Elbig

15mm 5mm 146mm 12mm 17.
5mm 12mm 146mm 5mm 15mm
15mm
5mm
Merchants of
War and Peace Merchants of
British Knowledge of China in the Making of the Opium War

Merchants of War and Peace
British Knowledge of War and Peace
China in the Making of
British Knowledge of
the Opium War
China in the Making of
‘This is an outstanding piece of original research, breaking new ground the Opium War
in our understanding of Anglo-Chinese relations. Its meticulous analysis
of “British Knowledge of China in the Making of the Opium War” is
especially significant—often it was perception and not so much reality
that could have led to war!’
—John Y. Wong, emeritus professor, University of Sydney; author of
Deadly Dreams: Opium and the Arrow War (1856–1860) in China
‘War is often not just the clash of arms, but the conflict of different
ways of knowing and seeing. Song-Chuan Chen’s powerful new book
examines the way in which British colonial knowledge of China was
constructed. In doing so, he provides important new insights into
empire, power, and violence during the era of the Opium War.’
—Rana Mitter, professor, University of Oxford; author of
235mm
China’s War with Japan, 1937–45: The Struggle for Survival
Merchants of War and Peace challenges conventional arguments that the major driving forces of the
First Opium War were the infamous opium smuggling trade, the defence of British national honour,
and cultural conflicts between ‘progressive’ Britain and ‘backward’ China. Instead, it argues that the
war was started by a group of British merchants in the Chinese port of Canton in the 1830s, known
as the ‘Warlike party’. Living in a period when British knowledge of China was growing rapidly, the
Warlike party came to understand China’s weakness and its members returned to London to lobby for
intervention until war broke out in 1839.
However, the Warlike party did not get its way entirely. Another group of British merchants known in
Canton as the ‘Pacific party’ opposed the war. In Britain, the anti-war movement gave the conflict its
infamous name, the ‘Opium War’, which has stuck ever since. Using materials housed in the National
Archives, UK, the First Historical Archives of China, the National Palace Museum, the British Library,
SOAS Library, and Cambridge University Library, this meticulously researched and lucid volume is a
new history of the cause of the First Opium War.
Song-Chuan Chen (PhD, Cambridge) is an assistant professor

Song-Chuan Chen
at Nanyang Technological University Singapore. He specializes

in modern Chinese history; his research focuses on the history History / China
of Sino-Western interactions and the history of the Chinese
lower classes.
Song-Chuan Chen
Printed and bound in Hong Kong, China
5mm
15mm
British Knowledge of China in the Making

of the Opium War
Song-Chuan Chen
Hong Kong University Press
The University of Hong Kong
Pokfulam Road
Hong Kong
www.hkupress.org
© 2017 Hong Kong University Press
ISBN 978-988-8390-56-4 (Hardback)
All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any infor-
mation storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed and bound by China Translation & Printing Services Ltd. in Hong Kong, China
To my parents
獻給我的父母：陳雄飛　王鳳英
Contents
Prologue viii
Map of the Pearl River Delta in the 1830s x
1. Introduction 1
2. The Warlike and Pacific Parties 11
3. Breaking the Soft Border 38
4. Intellectual Artillery 61
5. A War of Words over ‘Barbarian’ 82
6. Reasoning Britain into a War 103
7. The Regret of a Nation 126
8. Conclusions: Profit Orders of Canton 150
Acknowledgements 161
Notes 163
Glossary 193
Bibliography 196
Index 222
Prologue
The Opium War’s first shots were fired on 4 September 1839 by the British navy
under orders from Captain Charles Elliot directed at three Qing imperial warships
in Kowloon Bay, Hong Kong. With a desire to explain himself, Elliot reported the
encounter to Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston:
I opened fire from the pinnace, the cutter, and the other vessel, upon the
three junks. It was answered both from them and the battery, with a spirit not
at all unexpected by me, for I have already had experience that the Chinese are
much under-rated in that respect. After a fire of almost half-an-hour against
this vastly superior force, we hauled off from the failure of our ammunition;
for I already said, anticipating no serious results, we had not come in prepared
for them.1
The confiscation in March that year by Commissioner Lin of opium smuggled into
China by British merchants had created a tense atmosphere, and this partly explains
why the underprepared Elliot fired at the Qing warships.
But was this really the first shot? Historians who have taken the exchange of
fire as the war’s starting point have tended to argue that the opium smuggling trade
was the cause and the confiscation the trigger.2 Another group of historians who argue
that the war’s purpose was to defend British national honour or to expand British
trade have dated the war’s starting point as June 1840, when British expedition troops
arrived in Chinese waters.3
However, though a captain on the frontier may give the order and a soldier of an
expeditionary force load and fire the cannon, a war does not necessarily start with
military action. Given that this was the very first war between China and a European
country, one may well ask where the idea came from of waging a war against a country
that was more than 5,000 miles away and about which most Britons knew very little.
Who made the decision and who was to benefit from the war? Perhaps more impor-
tantly, how did the decision makers justify the acts of aggression and violence?
The short answer is that Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston was the key politician
behind the war decision made in a cabinet meeting on 1 October 1839. But how did
Palmerston come to make the recommendation? He was yet to receive Elliot’s report
Prologue ix
when the cabinet met that day, and prior to 1837 he had seen China as a faraway
country of negligible interest. His idea of engaging with China through war came
from a group of British merchants trading in the Chinese port of Canton.
Having sustained extensive contact with the Chinese and knowing Qing China
far better than any other Europeans, British merchants in Canton in the decade prior
to the Opium War fought a fierce war of words among themselves on the question
of whether to ask their government to take military action against China. A group of
them then went back to Britain in 1835 and again in 1839 to campaign publicly and
to lobby politicians. These merchants made politicians in London see the benefits of
military action; together they started the war.
To wage a war, one had first to justify it. The war did not begin with soldiers
and captains, but with the merchants, and it commenced with a clash over British
knowledge of China. This book documents the development of the war arguments in
Canton and London, and charts how the merchants and politicians came to believe
they had a just war on their hands.
Map of the Pearl River Delta in the 1830s.
1
Introduction
We say, and we say boldly: as History it will be matter of surprise and doubt,
that England—the great—the powerful—jealous of her own honor and watchful
of her national rights should thus, in the height of her power and greatness, have
tamely submitted to wrong, to insult, to indignity, to oppression, from a govern-
ment and a people, such as this, whom the earliest exhibition of force and firm-
ness would have brought to reason and submission . . . ! We say without fear of
contradiction: as history it will not be believed.1
Thus concluded an editorial printed on 1 November 1831 in the English biweekly

newspaper Canton Register. The Register was published in the Chinese port city
of Canton (known in Chinese as Guangzhou) for the consumption of the foreign
trading community there and those in other Asian ports. Its owner was the British—
to be precise Scottish—merchant James Matheson. And it was one of the five English-
language printing presses of the port.
Starting with the news that the British government in India was to send the warship
HMS Challenger to China delivering a letter to the Canton authorities requesting
redress for an ‘insult’ that happened in May that year, the editorial was implicit in
advocating a war against China.
Just what was this ‘insult’ that so incensed the British community? In May, the
Qing governor of Canton, Zhu Guizhen, came to the English Factory in the foreign
trading quarters, known as the Thirteen Factories, he ordered the uncovering of a
portrait on a wall in the main hall. Upon learning that it was a portrait of the British
king George IV, Zhu then turned the back of his chair towards it. Zhu’s action was
regarded by the British merchants trading in the port as an insult to the king and
by extension to British national honour. They believed that an insult such as this
merited war.
Belligerent language, such as ‘exhibition of force and firmness’, started to appear
in the Register in 1830. By late 1834, arguments for a war against China were com-
monplace and could be found in most issues of the Register until history’s first war
between China and a European country—the First Opium War—broke out in 1839.
2 Merchants of War and Peace
This book is about the history of this war argument and about how the argument
created a new British knowledge of China. The book brings into focus the role of
private merchants (British traders in the East other than the staff of the East India
Company [EIC]) and their interactions with the Qing government. I argue that the
merchants’ new conception of China—a China to be engaged with through war—
developed in Canton during the 1830s in their print-based public sphere and was
primal in starting the war.
Prime movers
One driving force behind the war argument was the merchants’ confidence in the
British Empire. In the early nineteenth century, the idea of Britain as a mighty nation
was at its zenith as a result of its victory in the Napoleonic Wars in 1815 in particu-
lar and imperial expansion worldwide in general. The patriotic pride of the British
community exemplified this imperial confidence. Waterloo Dinner, for instance,
was held by the British private merchants in Canton in 1830, to commemorate the
fifteenth anniversary of the British victory. At the dinner party they ate, drank, sang,
and toasted to British navy, the king, and the heroes of that battle.2
Believing Britain to be ‘the most powerful nation in the world’, some British
private merchants considered China’s trade restrictions, which confined all European
trade to the port of Canton, as an insult to Britain’s ‘national honour’.3 The advance of
British rule in India and other places in Asia led the merchants to believe the British
government would intervene in China to restore British national honour. There was
an ‘imperial state of mind’ emerging in Canton.4
The merchants hoped that war would, more importantly, force the Chinese to the
negotiating table and gain for the British unrestricted access to the Chinese market.5
The Register invited its readers to imagine the following: ‘How vast field would this
Empire, under a freer system of intercourse afford for the consumption of the produce
of British skill and industry!’6
Trade was considered a matter of national interest, as the British identified their
country as a nation of trade as early as the fifteenth century.7 The doctrine of free
trade, which was fast becoming the dominant political-economic ideology in Britain
in the 1830s, gave this centuries-old trade argument new momentum. The private
merchants of Canton greeted this with enthusiasm. They believed that a war to secure
extensive trade privileges in China was in the British national interest and reflected
the cold calculations of free trade: the more Britain traded with China, the richer the
British would become.
The war discourse thus boiled down to two main arguments: expanding national
interest and restoring national honour. The group of British private merchants who
argued for war were known in the port as the Warlike party, and they used the
Introduction 3
Register as their mouthpiece. Behind their rhetoric of national honour and national
interest was the profit motive and the desire to trade in conditions under which the
merchants believed themselves entitled by right of being British.
After the desire for war took root, the Warlike party went back to London in 1835
to lobby. They succeeded in 1839 in swaying the British government to act. This book
considers the war argument initiated in Canton to be the key cause of the First Opium
War. It was neither the infamous opium smuggling per se nor the defence of British
national honour nor the cultural conflict between ‘progressive’ Britain and ‘backward’
China, which, as the main explanations of the war’s origin, have hitherto dominated
the historiography.8 These narratives took the national honour argument for granted
and marginalized the importance of the private merchants’ lobbying and the image
of China they created through their public campaign for a war. By bringing the focus
back to the process of war lobbying and the local dynamics of interactions in Canton
where the war argument was first developed, this book attempts to show that the
Warlike party was the driving force behind the war.
Before the 1830s, the British acquired their conceptual framework of China mainly
through the writings of Jesuit missionaries from continental Europe, which depicted
China as a peaceable country to be admired and imitated. The view of China that
developed in the Canton port in the 1830s displaced the Jesuits’ imagined geogra-
phy of the Peking court, where the Jesuits had served the Ming and Qing imperial
governments between the late sixteenth and early eighteenth centuries. The contrast
between the conceptualization of China by the Jesuits and the Canton British private
merchants’ community resulted in a paradigm shift in British perceptions.9 The
Warlike party accentuated a new British idea of China based on its argument for war
and its need to justify the conflict both before and after. At the heart of their new
vision was the idea that China was in isolation and had to be opened up by the British
through war.
Nobody in London or in the West had the means in the 1830s to know China better
than the private merchants in Canton. Not only were they—along with the Protestant
missionaries and a few EIC staff—the major producers of British knowledge about
China, but they comprised the only group of people at the time to have relatively
accurate military intelligence of the Qing. Both James Matheson (1796–1878) and
his business partner William Jardine (1784–1843)—the two leading figures of the
Warlike party—traded in China for more than twenty years, longer than most EIC
staff, and had superior knowledge of China’s eastern coast and military strength.
They regularly sent ships up the coast to sell opium. Their ship captains engaged in
skirmishes with Chinese water forces (shuishi), and accounts of such trips and their
observations on the Chinese military were regularly published in the Register.10
With this new knowledge, they were able to make informed judgements, and
this made a difference in the war decision. They met with Foreign Secretary Lord
Palmerston (Henry John Temple, 1784–1865) at least four times and finally won his
support in late 1839.11 They supplied him with a war strategy—the ‘Jardine plan’—
and, crucially, with intelligence of the weakness of the Chinese military defences,
suggesting that the war was easily winnable. This assessment, moreover, provided
the government with an attractive solution to the domestic political crisis that the
government was facing. Britain fought and won the First Opium War according to
the plan supplied by the merchants, prompting Palmerston, famously, to express his
thanks to William Jardine for the ‘assistance and information . . . so handsomely
afforded’.12 The Treaty of Nanking, signed after the war in 1842, fulfilled in every
clause the demands that the merchants had discussed extensively in their maritime
public sphere in Canton.
Scholars have made note of Jardine’s war lobbying but regarded it solely as his
personal position, marginal to the outbreak of war. Historical treatment of the mer-
chants’ lobbying has been patchy.13 This book is the first full investigation of the First
Opium War’s history in this context of how the Warlike party developed the war
argument in the environment of Canton, produced new British knowledge of China,
and lobbied successfully for the war. It shows that the new British knowledge of China
was the result of a combination of the Warlike party members’ trading experiences
in Canton, their faith in the ideology of free trade, their hopes for new trade rela-
tions, and their confidence in the expansionist British Empire.14 The making of the
new British knowledge about China and the waging of the First Opium War were
intrinsically and deeply intertwined. And considering that the new knowledge would
become a frame of reference for learning about China that lasted until the 1970s, the
history documented in this book is central to the understanding of Sino-Western
historical encounters.
The story of the Warlike party captures only half of the history of the war’s origins.
Another group of British private merchants in Canton, dubbed by their opponents
the Pacific party, opposed the war. The Pacific party resolutely refrained from
publishing polemic arguments against China in their newspaper, the Canton Press
(1835–1844).15 The Press advocated peaceful engagement with China and saw the
sovereign nation as within its rights to develop its own trade policies. They believed
that the merchants should submit to the Canton regulations when trading in China.
The justification for war—that is, their new knowledge of China—was particularly
important to the Warlike party’s endeavour when facing opposition from the Pacific
party. The Pacific merchants’ history—although limited in scope due to absence of
archival materials—is told for the first time in this book.
In Britain, the anti-war campaign between 1839 and 1843 was even stronger. The
London newspapers successfully gave the war its infamous name—the Opium War,
which has been used ever since. From the anti-war movement’s perspective, the war
Introduction 5
was not inevitable, as some scholars have argued.16 The history of this movement
serves as a reminder that the war was wilfully mobilized, strongly opposed, and could
have been stopped. Chapter 7 of this book is devoted to documenting, for the first
time as well, the history of opposition to the war.
To drive home the history of the war’s origins, this book also re-examines the First
Opium War in the Chinese context. It explains how the Canton one-port system of
trade caused the Warlike party to believe there was no choice but to advocate a war.
The one-port system was established by the Qing Empire in the late 1750s to allow
China’s European trade to take place at the same time as addressing dynastic state
security concerns. The Qing’s chief enemies were domestic rebels, and the court
feared above all the joining of forces between foreign forces and Chinese rebels in a
quest to overthrow the dynasty, as had happened to every major Chinese dynasty. The
Qing court’s fear was exploited by the ‘Canton lobby’—a group of Canton merchants
and Qing officials—who sought to monopolize China’s European trade by winning
imperial sanctions to protect Canton’s privileges. The lobby succeeded in 1757. The
result was the Canton one-port system of trade. After its establishment, the Qing
dynasty enjoyed both the perceived state security and the revenue of port duties gen-
erated by the Canton monopoly. Officials in charge of the port also profited from their
positions, and a few Chinese merchants earned tremendous wealth.
The Canton system that controlled the European trade determined how the Qing
understood Europeans. Ideas, especially Confucian concepts, were drawn on to
justify the trade monopoly and the confinement of Europeans to Canton, as a means
to ideologically shore up the one-port system. It was the institution of the Canton
one-port system—not China’s ‘all under heaven’ (tianxia) ideology nor the tributary
system, as scholars have wrongly argued, that dictated the Qing’s relations with and
knowledge of Europeans, especially the British.17
A new system of Chinese knowledge about the Qing Empire’s relations with
Europeans originated in Canton—knowledge making became entangled in profit
making on the Chinese side. And, disastrously, the Canton system spawned an insti-
tutional inertia which made it impossible for the Qing to adequately comprehend
and respond to the fast-changing new global order in the century after the 1750s,
during which the British Empire came to dominate the globalizing maritime world
of the East.
Thus, this book documents how, in the setting of China’s one-port system of trade
in Canton, the Warlike party developed an argument for a war against China. With
perseverance and the favourable development of events, they successfully persuaded
the British state to wage the First Opium War. The Warlike party’s argument was
opposed by the Pacific party in Canton, and their lobbying faced an anti-war move-
ment in London. Before Britain could start a war, the Warlike party had to first fight a
war of words in both Canton and London’s print-based public spheres for justification
and persuasion. The waging of the war dictated the making of British knowledge
about China.
The Warlike party’s war
The First Opium War is a well-studied topic with various theories of its cause.
To W. A. P. Martin, F. L. Hawks Pott, H. B. Morse, Gerald S. Graham, and John King
Fairbank, the war originated from China’s lagging behind the progressive world.
Thus, the war intended to open up this insular and benighted China.18 This theory
falls squarely within the knowledge of China created by the Warlike party in Canton
in the larger context of the binary of progressive West and backwardness of the rest—
the modernistic argument. Their narration of history is one sided in favour of the
modernist argument, reducing the history of the Opium War to a footnote of the
narrative of the march of civilization, or modernization.
Glenn Melancon and Harry G. Gelber made the same mistake of taking Warlike
party’s argument at face value. They contended that defending British national honour
was the reason for war.19 This book deconstructs the national honour argument by
showing that the motive behind the rhetoric was profit making and imperial confi-
dence. Maurice Collis, Tan Chung, Hsin-pao Chang, Peter Ward Fay, Jack Beeching,
Frank Sanello and W. Travis Hanes III, and Julia Lovell have stressed the role of the
opium trade in starting the war.20 This book sees the opium trade, in line with the
arguments of other scholars, as a trigger, not the war’s origin.21
Other historians, like George Marion, Michael Greenberg, John Gallagher and
Ronald Robinson, Victor Purcell, D. C. M. Platt, and P. J. Cain and A. G. Hopkins,
have argued that the purpose of the war was to expand British trade.22 ‘Trade expan-
sion’ was in actuality the Warlike party’s ‘national interest’. The change from trade as
a national interest in 1830s Canton to the economic theory of trade expansion in the
1950s to 1980s represented a change from a first-person narrative to a third-person
narrative. This book demonstrates that the war was started by the Warlike party out of
their wish to expand trade rather than trade expansion itself. The agent—the Warlike
part—that brought about the war vanished in the disinterested third-person narrative
of economic expansion theory.
Recent scholarship examining the cause of the war has explored narratives more
diverse than the viewpoints provided by the Warlike party of Canton. James Polachek
has explained how the Qing Empire’s scholar-officials fought an ‘inner opium war’ in
the Qing court during the 1830s over the policies of banning or legalizing the opium
trade, which represented a proxy war and power struggle between two factions
with different governance philosophies. Commissioner Lin (Lin Zexu, 1785–1850),
who was dispatched to Canton to confiscate opium in early 1839, belonged to the
Introduction 7
hardliners who wanted a stricter prohibition on opium trade. Their policy caused a
crisis.23 This book will show how the hardliners’ policy played into the hands of the
Warlike party in Canton and helped create the conditions for war.
Melancon’s findings on the role of late 1830s British party politics have been the
most valuable discovery recently, though he did not make this point his main argu-
ment. He contended that the ruling party, the Whigs, were not in the majority and
every policy decision was a tightrope walk that had to balance the demands of the
opposition Tories, who were connected to the landed class, and the Radicals, who
represented the interests of the new industrial cities in the north. The Whig gov-
ernment had been subject to and narrowly survived a motion of no confidence by
the Tory opposition in 1838 and 1839. The vote of no confidence was getting closer
to toppling the government. In this hostile political climate, the Whigs needed the
Radicals’ support, and when the Radicals came to lobby for a war the government
considered it convenient to oblige. These findings dovetail with this book’s major
argument that the war idea started in Canton. The Radicals, who represented the
interests of manufacturers in the north of England and who in turn were the Warlike
party’s allies, together successfully lobbied to start the war. The political climate in
London at the crucial moment eased the last mile of the Warlike party’s quest.
Viewed as a whole, the Opium War historiography proves that the war would not
have happened without a combination of factors with coterminous timing. Although
the victory of the moral hardliners in the Qing court was the force behind the opium
confiscation, it took a fight between two political factions in London to turn the
war argument first developed in Canton into a political decision of the British state.
It was pure coincidence that the opium crisis occurred in Canton just as the politi-
cal crisis in London was unfolding. The Warlike party and northern manufacturers
had a shared British identity as ‘shopkeepers’ who desired trade expansion, and this
on top of personal connections between the two groups contributed to the northern
manufacturers’ decision to assist in lobbying for a war to open up the Chinese market.
For the Radical MPs who supported their cause, lobbying for the war was a political
obligation to their constituents, and it afforded a window of opportunity to punch
above their weight.
A combination of factors on both the Chinese and British sides provided the nec-
essary conditions but were not causes of the war. The Qing government did not want
a war. The hardliners of the Chinese scholar-officials wanted to root out the opium
trade and stop the resulting outflow of silver from the country. Their uncompromising
stand against the opium traders set the conditions for the British to declare war. The
British government in London did not plan to initiate an invasion of China. Rather,
it was reactively responding to the crisis in Canton whipped up by the Warlike party,
their merchant allies in Britain, and the Radicals in Parliament, although the British
government did use the crisis to its advantage. Both the British and Chinese states
were engaged in power struggles at home that made them susceptible to becoming
involved in a war. But the initiation came from neither of the two governments.
The origin of the war was provided by the Warlike party of Canton. Its members
presented war arguments and lobbied for war, and their opium trade ultimately led
to it. The war was fought on behalf of their interests, and it was won based on the
intelligence they supplied. The treaty signed after the war addressed their demands in
every clause. The Warlike party played its role at every turn. Its wishes, knowledge,
initiative, and determination led to the war being waged. The rest of the conditions,
coincidences, and accidents helped create the circumstances that led to the war.
With regard to the traditions of empire studies, this book makes a case that actors
on the periphery greatly affected the fate of the metropolis and the empire.24 To the
studies on British perception of China, this book shows how Canton became a key
site for the production of British knowledge about China which proves to be decisive
in Sino-Western relations.25
Chapter previews
The British community in Canton was rather small in number, considering its role
in history. There were 66 white British in 1833 and 86 in 1835. The end of the EIC
monopoly in 1834 brought about an influx of ‘private merchants’ to China, and by
1837 the white British numbered 158, just over half of the Canton foreign commu-
nity’s 307 members. The Parsee (Persian merchants of South Asia), who numbered 62
in 1837, were considered British subjects, and some were supporters of the Warlike
party during the 1839 lobbying, but not in 1835. The third-biggest group in 1837
were the Americans, who numbered 44, followed by the Portuguese at 28. Those from
other European nations like France and Prussia comprised single-digit numbers by
the 1837 count.26 The British private merchants considered themselves learned people
animated by Enlightenment ideals. They were multifaceted and achieved a great deal
as individuals and as a community.
Chapter 2, ‘The Warlike and Pacific Parties’, explores how the British community
in Canton used its newspapers to debate the subjects of China, Britain, and free trade.
The Warlike party gradually settled on a new understanding of China centred on a
war discourse, while the Pacific party condemned the arguments for war.
A third force was at play in the British maritime public sphere in Canton, an inad-
vertent participant that was neither anti-war nor pro-war: the Canton system, which
is examined in detail in Chapter 3, ‘Breaking the Soft Border’. More than the physical
border of the Thirteen Factories, the Canton system was mostly a ‘soft border’ made
of a series of rules and regulations that constrained British merchants’ activities in
China and restricted their interaction with Qing subjects. Soft borders here were figu-
rative borderlines on the maritime frontier that cut through transnational networks
Introduction 9
of information and interaction. By preventing interaction other than what was neces-
sary for trade, the Qing believed that they had successfully prevented the possibility
of foreigners joining forces with Chinese rebels. However, the Warlike party saw it as
necessary to start a war to abolish the system that confined British trade expansion
and was perceived in its very existence as an insult to the British Empire.
Chapter 4, ‘Intellectual Artillery’, explains how the Warlike party launched an
informational war to penetrate the soft borders that constrained flows of information
and interaction. Their efforts concentrated on the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge in China, with the objective of spreading knowledge about the European
world to the Chinese. They prepared, as they termed it, ‘intellectual artillery’ in the
form of Chinese-language publications, especially material related to world geogra-
phy, to distribute among the Chinese to inform them of the extent of British power
in the hope that it would lead China to ‘open up’ from the inside. In establishing the
society, the Warlike party conceived the metaphor of a war of information, which
contributed to the developing conceptualization of a literal war against China in the
years before actual military action.
Chapter 5, ‘A War of Words over “Barbarian”’, assesses a decade-long debate that
occurred within the British community in Canton over how best to translate the word
yi (夷)—as either ‘barbarian’ or ‘stranger’. The dispute first raged in the Register for
more than two years, beginning in 1828, and played a key role in igniting the war
argument in 1830. The community agreed that it meant ‘barbarian’, representing a
Chinese conception of foreigners as uncivilized savages. The translation was in wide
circulation after the 1835 war lobbying campaign in London and formed an integral
part of the pro-war argument. However, by 1837 the Canton community belatedly
retracted their earlier translation, arguing that yi was best rendered into English as
‘stranger’.
On top of debating and deciding the meaning of a Chinese word, the Warlike
party believed it had the right to petition both the Chinese and British governments
to have its voice heard and to obtain the ‘justice’ it deserved. In this spirit, which
seemed to be a product of Enlightenment but was actually imperialism, the party
engaged the Chinese government and went to London to lobby for war in 1835 and
1839, as described in Chapter 6, ‘Reasoning Britain into a War’.
However, the Warlike party did not get its way entirely. Chapter 7, ‘The Regret
of a Nation’, documents how the British public opposed the war. Christian morality
empowered the anti-war movements in Britain as the protesters felt ashamed that the
war, as they understood it, had been launched to force opium on the Chinese. Their
view of the war would prevail in the second half of the nineteenth century. After 1860,
British parliamentarians more often than not condemned the war, blaming it both for
the disastrous Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864) and the rising tide of Chinese national-
ism, and many regretted that the Opium War was ever waged. The concluding chapter
theorizes how the Canton system and the First Opium War created different kind of
‘profit orders’ for the Chinese and the British and how the war represents a clash of
the two orders.
In the Chinese setting of the 1830s’ Canton port, the British merchants argued
over the question of Britain’s relations with China: to engage them with war or peace.
The Warlike party’s case won out. Their war argument soon gave national importance
to the opium crisis of 1839, played a central role in London’s political crisis of the fight
between the Whigs and Tories, and then swayed Britain into taking military action.
2
The Warlike and Pacific Parties
During the 1830s, the British community in Canton was divided into the ‘Warlike
party’ and ‘Pacific party’. One trader who went by the pseudonym of Crito belonged
to the latter. In early 1836, he attacked the Warlike party that gathered under the
Canton Register:
With respect to the warlike party, its views of its leaders as with those of most
other parties, are probably partly ambitions and partly founded upon real but
mistaken ideas of public advantage;—for commerce must ever be most benefited
in Asia, as it is now admitted to be in Europe, by peace.—Some of the minor
advocates of the party suffer themselves to be led like a celebrated blind traveller,
to the edge of a precipice where they indulge their imaginations in exaggerated
prospects and excited feelings, whilst the more clear sighted are contemplating
the abyss below.1
Crito’s anti-war position was informed in equal parts by the principle of peaceful
interaction and a fear that a war would put the Canton trade in an even worse situa-
tion. Some British private merchants of Canton, especially those in the Pacific party,
were unsure whether Britain could win a war should one break out.
Upon reading this passage, which was published in the Canton Press, the Register
replied that it was not a warlike party, and struck back at the Pacific party that gath-
ered under the Press:
And shall those be termed pacific who would purchase the profits of a trade at
a sacrifice of every national honour and individual feeling?—Such “reveren-
tial submission” being the surest means to induce further insult, obloquy, and
ill-treatment.2
Exchanges of this kind between the two rival newspapers—and by proxy the two
parties—were typical in 1830s Canton. The two-party division, according to Crito,
started in 1830 due in great part to the community, especially the Warlike party
members, who were agitated by several incidents that occurred in Canton that year
and the following year.3 The war idea was voiced during this time and was opposed
by many. But by the winter of 1834, after the Napier Affair, the Warlike party was firm
in its position for a war against China.
Between 1830 and 1835, before the Press was established, pro-war and anti-war
arguments shared the same platform in the Register. After its inception, the Press
became the forum for pacific arguments, and the two-party division became more
palpable and polemical. To be sure, the two ‘parties’ should be considered as two
groups of like-minded people rather than organized associations, and their division
a spectrum rather than a polarization. Some members changed their minds along
the way. Some believed that Britain needed only to take possession of a Chinese
island or port as a colony for trade. Some argued that a display of the British naval
force without actually attacking would be enough to persuade Qing China to respect
British merchants and improve trading conditions. The polemical debates held in
the Canton public sphere were, nonetheless, realpolitik in the sense that the Warlike
party lobbied for the war in London in 1835, and later in 1839 with success.
This chapter expounds on the two parties’ arguments. The first two sections explain
how private merchants came to domination in the Canton port, how their public
sphere in Canton worked, and how it was connected to the rest of British maritime
public sphere. How the ideology of free trade played a role in the Warlike party’s war
argument and how the party took the trouble attempting to impart free trade ideas to
the Chinese are then examined, before concluding on the Pacific party’s perceptions
of China.
The rise of British private merchants
The trade volume of the British private merchants in Canton overtook that of the EIC
in the late 1820s. This economic power together with the expectation that the EIC’s
monopoly would not be renewed made the private merchants the major players in the
port even before the monopoly ended in early 1834. The division into the Warlike and
Pacific parties in the first two years involved EIC staff in Canton, but their role in the
rivalry soon diminished as its business wound down.
Before 1834, the main trading activity of private merchants was the ‘country
trade’, or maritime trade, between Asian ports, while the EIC had a monopoly over
transcontinental trade to Europe. The weekly Price Current of the Register listed the
goods that the merchants had shipped to Canton for Chinese consumption, including
amber, betel nuts, birds’ nests, copper, cotton, ginseng crude, Patna opium, Benares
opium, Malwa opium, Turkey opium, Malay pepper, Indian sandalwood, sapanwood,
sealskins, sea otter skins, and others. The Chinese goods they exported to other Asian
ports included bamboo canes, brass leaf, glass beads, white lead, rhubarb, raw silk,
row sugar, vermilion, Bohea tea, Congo tea, Pekoe tea, Ankoi tea, Hyson tea, and
Twankay tea.4
The Warlike and Pacific Parties 13
Under the EIC’s monopoly structure, the private merchants had to be daring and
creative in carving out their trades and profits. The first generation, which came to
China in the last three decades of the eighteenth century, pioneered various new
trade items in the Chinese market, such as highly decorated clocks and Alaskan fur.5
The second generation, who were mostly responsible for creating the new British
knowledge of China, came to Canton in the 1810s through 1820s. They not only
took over the Asian country trade from the Asian traders but also expanded trade to
New South Wales and Western Australia, and revitalized trade and instituted regular
shipping with South America to sell Chinese goods and obtain silver.6 With their
profit-driven trading efforts, they brought new energy to the old routes and estab-
lished world connections that had not previously existed. In this way, they were truly
disciples of Adam Smith.
One example of their new energy in the Asian maritime trade was the introduc-
tion of the agency system, a capitalist formulation empowered by the separation of
capital from management that increased the mobility and hence volume of trade. The
agents acted as brokers rather than investing money directly as the EIC and the previ-
ous generation of private merchants had done. They sat in Canton gathering market
information and wrote to their clients in Calcutta, Bombay, other port cities and later
London, reporting on the markets and giving purchasing and shipping advice. With
branch offices in other ports, the agency system was a complex network of investment
and profit making.7
Gathering market information in the agency system became more important. For
instance, the Indian cotton trade depended on the Chinese market for nankeen (a yel-
lowish cotton cloth). However, foreign traders had to rely on second-hand informa-
tion from Hong merchants, and by the time information about the nankeen market
reached Canton from inland, sales of Indian cotton in the Canton market had often
already collapsed.8 In part, the private merchants advocated extensive access to China
because it would have made the Chinese domestic markets observable to the British.
The revitalized Asian ocean trade helped make Canton the centre of wealth
generation. This together with EIC and American trade created wealthy individuals,
including Howqua (Wu Bingjian, 1769–1843), who was allegedly the richest merchant
at the time; his near equal Puan Khequa (Pan Youdu 1755–1820); the Forbeses,
a prominent Boston family of which the former US secretary of state John Forbes
Kerry (b. 1943) is a member; and American railway entrepreneur John Cleve Green
(1800–1875), who in 1839 took his ‘ample fortune’ of $7 million from Canton back to
America and, with further investment in the railway, became a philanthropist and a
major benefactor of Princeton University and New York University.9 Along with these
individuals, the Qing and British governments in India and London benefited either
directly or indirectly from the thriving maritime trade, especially on taxation of the
three major commodities of silk, tea, and opium.
The best known of those who made their fortunes in Canton’s maritime trade
were two Scots: James Matheson and William Jardine. With the money he made in
Canton, Jardine bought a townhouse on Upper Belgrave Street, an affluent part of
London, and acquired the Lanrick Castle estate in Perthshire, Scotland, as his country
house. When he left Canton in early 1839, Jardine was no longer the same farmer’s
son who had earned a medical degree before coming to the East, first as a surgeon
on board the EIC ship the Brunswick. Matheson, the son of a Scottish captain, used
his Canton fortune to buy, in 1844 for £190,000, the Isle of Lewis—the largest of
the Western Isles off the western coast of mainland Scotland—and spent an addi-
tional £60,000 to build Lews Castle on it.10 The wealth the two men had accumulated
elevated their social status, which, in turn, allowed them to join British high society:
two Scottish Victorian gentlemen made in Canton. The social status and connections
were their means of access to the power centre in London for their war lobbying in
1835 and 1839.
The single most important commodity fuelling this moneymaking machine for
British private merchants like Jardine and Matheson was opium. The EIC monopo-
lized the opium plantations and trade in India, which was the main source of China’s
opium imports. However, it did not want to be involved in a trade banned by the
Chinese authorities. The private merchants seized the opportunity, shipping opium
from India to China, and by the late 1820s the opium trade flourished to the extent
that it altered the balance of trade in Canton. In terms of China’s currency flow
for imports and exports, ‘between 1829 and 1840 only $7⅓ million of silver was
imported, while nearly $56 million of treasure—dollars, sycee and gold—was sent
out of the country’.11 China’s silver was flowing out quickly, mainly for the purchase
of opium. In 1830, imports to Canton totalled $20,364,600, with more than half
($11,243,496) coming from the opium trade. ‘In the last decade before 1842, opium
alone constituted about two thirds of the value of all British imports into China.’12
Opium probably represented the largest commerce of any single commodity at the
time. As one British merchant described it, ‘Opium is like gold, I can sell it any time.’
Jardine, Matheson & Co. was the most successful of the country traders, and in 1834
was involved in one-third of the Canton opium trade.13
Opium created enormous problems for the Qing government. They first banned
it in the 1720s to no avail. The trade and consumption prevailed. By 1820, the Qing
started to take the matter more seriously than before. The major campaign to drive
out the opium trade that year brought the Qing to confront foreign opium smugglers
for the first time. As a result, the trade was driven out of the upper Canton estuary to
Lintin Island. But the anti-opium import campaign stopped there, and the business
thrived from the Lintin anchorage.14 British private merchants and other European
traders moored their ships at Lintin as floating depots to receive the opium brought
in by clippers from India. The opium was then transferred into Chinese crab boats
that came with payment receipts obtained at the Thirteen Factories in Canton and
was loaded, too, onto ships owned by British private merchants heading to China’s
eastern coasts for sale. The floating depots of Lintin were also involved in smuggling
other goods to evade the port tax.15
The private merchants saw Lintin as a form of ‘free trade’. In an article accusing the
EIC of showing no resistance to China’s constraints, the Register made the following
claim: ‘Let us cherish our Lintin trade, and endeavour to multiply Lintins along the
whole extent of the Chinese coast.’16 The private merchants, especially the Warlike
party, understood ‘free trade’ to be literally trade wherever they wanted.
Lintin was, in fact, the maritime frontier of the Qing and had an air of lawless-
ness. The private merchants saw there how China’s underworld society operated its
opium-smuggling business and how the Qing’s lower officials colluded in the opium
trade. This Lintin outlaw position played a part in shaping how the Warlike party per-
ceived the Chinese legal system and how it understood Chinese-Western relations.
In experiencing the Chinese bureaucratic system as corrupt and the law as unworthy
of observation and respect, based on what they saw in Lintin, the Warlike party felt
a moral justice in their opium trade and campaign for war. By characterizing the
Chinese as unjust, they could consider their smuggling business good and rightfully
advocate war against them. In contrast, the members of the Pacific party honestly
considered themselves opium smugglers.
But they were not merely opium traders. The Canton British community saw
themselves as cultured people with high-society aspirations. Jardine famously had
only one chair in his office for himself, as he did not want to spend his days chat-
ting away with idle visitors. He enjoyed work and worked long hours. Both Jardine
and Matheson received an education from what is now Edinburgh University at a
time when the Scottish Enlightenment was flourishing.17 Their stationary supplier in
London regularly sent them the latest newspapers, journals, and books. In the 1820s
and 1830s, the private merchants made extensive use of a library located in the EIC’s
English Factory. The articles they supplied to their newspapers and letters they wrote
to their friends and business partners indicated that they were observant, cultivated,
worldly, and tuned in to politics and world affairs. When news of the South American
revolutions reached Canton during the 1820s, the merchants sympathized with the
revolutionaries and believed liberty and democracy would win the day.18
When they were financially established, they saw themselves as philanthro-
pists. In the 1830s, they initiated or financed several charitable organizations in
Canton, including the Ophthalmic Hospital (1828), the Morrison Education Society
(1836), the Medical Missionary Society (1838), and funds for orphans and widows
of European traders in the East.19 They established a seamen’s hospital in Canton’s
Whampoa seaport for thousands of foreign sailors during one trading season in the
1830s, a form of welfare that the EIC had failed to provide. In their newspapers, they
appealed for donations for a similar hospital in London and asked the Chinese Hong
merchants and Parsee for disaster relief after floods in China and Scotland.20
If there was a golden opportunity to make money in Canton, it was carved out
by the private merchants, a group of self-made people who deeply believed in their
abilities. This attitude characterized their commercial activities, charitable work, and
engagement with and understanding of the Qing government, and it was the driving
force behind their desire to reconstruct a new Britain-China trade relationship that
would suit their needs, following the inspiration of Smithian theory. The print-based
maritime public sphere was a means for them to discover the common desire to
abolish the Canton system and for the formation of the Warlike party.
Canton in the British maritime public sphere
In the Thirteen Factories, where the regular trade took place, as the merchants were
confined there while in China, the space provided them with an unusual abundance
of opportunities to interact with one another and helped the face-to-face public
sphere to thrive. The most evident public space was located at No. 3, the Imperial
Hong. Here, Markwick & Lane rented a corner to sell European goods and nautical
instruments to the foreigners in Canton.21 At this shop, one could buy Horsburgh’s
Charts (maritime charts compiled by Captain James Horsburgh [1762–1836]) and
books such as Statement of the British Trade and The Chinese Commercial Guide. The
Canton Register sold for fifty cents, and Price Current and Commercial Remark could
be purchased for twenty-five cents. There was also a Canton Register box at the shop
for the convenience of readers who wanted to leave letters for the editor.
A subscription list for charitable appeal on behalf of the Hospital for Sick and
Diseased Seamen in London was placed in the shop. After the end of the EIC in
1834, a post office was set up in the shop, where incoming ships would deliver their
letter bags and individuals would call to collect mail. Markwick & Lane ran a hotel
where Canton foreign community’s public meetings were held. They also catered for
parties and great dinners for the community.22 The British in Canton had plenty of
formal gatherings such as meetings, dinners, and parties at which they could further
exchange their ideas. The funeral of Lord John William Napier (1786–1834) afforded
such an occasion.
Napier was sent to Canton as superintendent of trade representing the British
Foreign Office in 1834, after the EIC monopoly trade had wound down. He arrived
at Macao on 15 July and went to Canton soon after, requesting direct communication
with the governor-general, rather than through the Hong merchants as the Canton
system stipulated. This meant that he asked to be recognized not as a foreign head
merchant (taipan) but as a British state representative, a new situation that the con-
servative Qing bureaucrats refused to accept. The Canton authorities asked Napier to
leave Canton, as he had not applied for a passport to enter in the first place. During
the standoff, Napier happened to take sick and was moved to Macao, where he died
of fever on 11 October, ninety-five days after his arrival.23
Napier’s death grieved the Warlike party, which had hoped that his appointment
would change the trading conditions in China. Key Warlike party members Jardine
and Matheson were especially dismayed. Two months before Napier’s arrival, they
had sent out cruising boats daily to look out for his ships. Upon landing, Napier was
received into a house in Macao fitted up for him by Jardine and Matheson, leaving
the welcoming party of the EIC staff empty handed and their preparation for Napier
in vain.24
The Warlike party believed that Napier would not have deteriorated so rapidly had
the Chinese allowed him to go down to Macao via direct river routes instead of the
inner river routes that prolonged his journey. The Register published the order of pro-
cession for the funeral, along with the sermon and obituary. As if this was not enough
an expression of their feelings, outlining the pages of the Register in bold black as a
sign of mourning for two issues, the Warlike party used a tradition invented in 1817
for the death of a royal family member to honour Napier.25 The funeral of Protestant
missionary Robert Morrison, who had overworked as a translator and interpreter
during the standoff, had been held one month earlier and now made Napier’s funeral
even more poignant.26 Because Napier had been a representative of the British Crown,
his death and ‘ill treatment’ by the Qing authorities became the centrepiece of the
Warlike party’s petition for war in December 1834.
In the petition, the Warlike party described the Qing’s treatment of Lord Napier
as an ‘insult offered to your Majesty’s flag’. The word ‘insult’ was used seven times,
accompanied by other related words such as ‘injuries’, ‘indignities’, and ‘degrad-
ing’. The petitioners asked for ‘two frigates, and three or four armed vessels of light
draft, together with a steam vessel, all fully manned . . . in the name of your Majesty,
ample reparation for the insults offered’.27 This was the first war petition sent out from
Canton, and it was written with an air of funerary gravity. James Matheson would
carry the war petition to London and accompany Lady Napier and her two daugh-
ters home. He would stay in Britain between 1835 and 1837 to campaign and lobby
for war.
In more cheerful times for the Canton foreign community, a Waterloo Dinner was
held for every member of the foreign community in Canton in 1830 on the fifteenth
anniversary of that decisive battle. King George IV’s birthday and Queen Victoria’s
coronation and birthday were also events meriting celebration dinners.28 Among the
most important days on the calendar was St Andrew’s Day, honouring the Scottish
patron saint.
A great number of Scottish merchants traded in the East during the nineteenth
century, and St Andrew’s Day marked an important occasion for expressing their
Scottishness.29 Jardine served as patron of the celebration in Canton. During the

dinners, sets of silver plates bearing his coat of arms (despite his humble back-
ground) were used and admired by the merchants and captains who attended. The
celebrations lasted from evening until dawn. Around sixty guests attended in 1834
and 1835, and by 1837 more than one hundred people were present. At the dinner
they toasted St Andrew first, followed by the king, queen, royal family, and navy. The
guests sang between each toast, culminating in the national anthem ‘God Save the
King’ (or ‘Queen’).30 The public space created by these dinners offered ample oppor-
tunity for exchange of opinions, and the members of the community bonded through
the endless toasts. Their spirits rose along with their glasses to a crescendo of patriotic
fervour, adding an emotional dimension to this British maritime public sphere in a
foreign land.
The personal interactions in the Canton port were further developed by the
English-language print media there, including the Canton Register (1827–1846),
the Canton Press (1835–1844), and the Chinese Repository (1832–1851), as well as
the short-lived Canton Miscellany (1831–1832) and the Chinese Courier and Canton
Gazette (1831–1833), which facilitated written interactions that widened participa-
tion in terms of both time and space.31 Via print and face-to-face interactions, the
British community of Canton extensively discussed public matters related to the
affairs of the merchants’ living quarters, the community, the Chinese authorities
who held jurisdiction, the port, and the happenings in other Asian trading ports and
Great Britain. It was in this Canton maritime public sphere of personal interaction
and of print press that the warlike and pacific arguments were exchanged.
Canton’s English print-based public sphere needs to be understood in the larger
context of British imperial informal networks in the East. British merchants at other
Asian port cities, too, printed English newspapers (usually weekly or biweekly). The
first English newspaper east of the Ganges was the Prince of Wales’ Island Gazette
(1805–1827), published in Penang, and the earliest and most seminal English news-
paper in India was the Calcutta Gazette (1784–1899).32 There was at least one newspa-
per in every Eastern port with a sizable British merchant community. The newspapers
were often named after the port: the Sydney Gazette, the Hobart Town Courier
(Sydney), Perth Gazette, Western Australian Journal (Perth), Singapore Chronicle,
Singapore Free Press, Malacca Observer and Chinese Chronicle, Penang Register &
Miscellany, Calcutta Courier, Bengal Hurkaru (Calcutta), Bombay Gazette, Sandwich
Island Gazette and Journal of Commerce, and Hawaiian Spectator.
Apart from commercial information, the newspapers published news and other
information related to the port and Great Britain in general. Along with the goods
that travelled trading routes in and out of Canton, the newspapers and journals of
the ports were circulated and British knowledge of China exchanged. The Canton
newspapers often quoted or summarized news printed by their fellow editors in
other ports. The editors of the Register made announcements such as the following:
‘We are indebted to a friend for the perusals of a file of the Australian newspaper,
lately received by the Prince Regent, New South Wales.’33 The same applied to editors
in other ports. Quoting the Register, the editor of the Hobart Town Courier wrote,
‘By the favour of Captain Harper of the ship Ephemina, we have the Canton Register.’34
The metropolis of London was the centre of maritime information circula-
tion. The Canton Register frequently quoted news items from the Times, Morning
Herald, Evening Mail, Quarterly Review, Penny Magazine, Oriental Herald, Asiatic
Journal, and others.35 Fleet Street of London, where English newspapers had their
headquarters, likewise paid the Canton print media particular attention, especially
on occasions such as the end of the EIC’s charter, the Napier Affair, and the First
Opium War. The Asiatic societies in Britain represented a strong point of intersec-
tion between the public spheres of London and the Eastern ports. The Asiatic Journal
published Intelligence and Register columns from Calcutta, Madras, Bombay,
Ceylon, Penang, Singapore, Malacca, Netherlands India, Siam, China, Cochin-
China, Australia, Polynesia, Mauritius, St Helena, the Isle of France, and the Cape of
Good Hope.36
The merchants at the Eastern ports read and quoted one another’s news indirectly
from London newspapers and journals if they had not already printed it. Along the
coastal lines of the formal and informal British Empire that stretched from Canton
to London, the literal connections between the ports formed an English corridor of
information circulation creating a sense of an ‘imagined community’ of the British
for their readers.37
Private letters also travelled on trading ships between Eastern port cities and
beyond. Everyone knew some people at the other ports, and the family-business
nature of the country trade added reasons for letter exchange. Jardine and Matheson
had at least eight nephews between them stationed at trading ports outside Canton.38
The private letters sent between ports were another source of news for the presses,
through which information and knowledge circulated from private individuals into
the public sphere at great distances.
The warlike and pacific ideas travelled via letters. During the Napier Affair, for
instance, Matheson related the following to his friend and business partner John Purvis
(1799–1872) in Singapore: ‘It were too much to expect that they [the Chinese] will
not require a further demonstration of force on a larger scale before being brought to
their senses.’39
The peregrinations of personnel further transferred information between ports,
as individuals talked about the news and ideas they had acquired when they arrived
in Canton and at other ports. Ship captains were a regular presence at the dinner
parties and were well respected. They were a source of authoritative information,
as they had access to the upper echelon of society in the East when they called at ports.
Missionaries also sent their publications and correspondence via trading ships.
The Indo China Gleaner (1817–1822), printed in Malacca, carried information
from Amboina, Batavia, Bellary, Calcutta, China, the Cape of Good Hope, Madras,
Malacca, and other places where Protestant missionaries were stationed.40 With their
literary skills, missionaries proved especially helpful. Robert Morrison helped edit
the Register for about two years.41 Based in Canton and Macao, Morrison also sup-
plied articles to the Malacca Observer and Chinese Chronicle (1826–1829), which was
printed by the press he had set up at the Anglo-Chinese College in Malacca.42 The
Chinese Repository began as a missionary journal and soon turned into a specialist
journal for East and South East Asia, covering subjects as diverse as history, culture,
and botany and devoting itself to issues of concern to the maritime public, such as
opium and free trade. The circulation of the Repository in the coastal cities indicated
the scope of the maritime public sphere: in August 1836, subscription numbers
reached 200 in China, 15 in Manila, 13 in the Sandwich Islands, 18 in Singapore,
6 in Malacca, 6 in Penang, 21 in Batavia, 4 in Siam, 6 in Sydney, 3 in Burma, 7 in
Bengal, 2 in Ceylon, 11 in Bombay, and 4 in Cape Town, for a total of 550. The rest
came from the West, including 5 in Hamburg, 40 in England, and 154 in America.43
Missionaries eagerly participated in knowledge making and circulation, not only to
spread Christianity but also to serve the feverish demand for information among the
Europeans in the East and back in the West.
The idea of starting a war against China was initiated in the Canton British mari-
time public sphere, and it immediately attracted pacific arguments from the com-
munity. The arguments then circulated in the Asian port cities before finding their
way to London to influence policymaking there.
The disturbance of 1830 and 1831
To a great extent, the print media–based British maritime public sphere in Asia
behaved like a local British newspaper such as those found in Leeds, Edinburgh, Bath,
or Darlington.44 Just as these newspapers carried news items for their towns and cities,
Asian port newspapers focused on indigenous issues and governments in which the
traders usually had a direct interest. This played into the creation of an illusion that
the foreign land the British lived on was part of British territory. Taking a British
perspective in judging China, articles in the Register often adopted a narrative stand-
point that British ways—be they related to governing, Christian moral values, social
formation, the legal system, free trade, or others—had a universal claim. The informal
empire was at work in that the imperial ideology or universal claim of British ways
expanded its boundaries before the formal empire—the state—moved in.
The Register, with the Warlike party behind it, saw their defiance against the
authorities, that is, both the British and Chinese governments, as part of their right
of being free-born Englishmen. They were proud that the Register was an independ-
ent medium, as it meant they were independent of the British authorities in Asia,
including the EIC and Foreign Office. In 1827, the British India government issued
‘a Government Circular, strictly forbidding all officers of the Government service,
of what rank so ever, at Penang, Malacca, or Singapore, from affording any informa-
tion to the newspapers relative to any acts or resolutions of the Indian Government’.45
The Register picked up this report, which was first introduced by the Singapore
Chronicle, and offered the following comment: ‘The Censorship of the Press has been
on various occasions exercised in India in the most arbitrary manner; we have a very
recent instance before us in the fate of the Calcutta Chronicle.’ The editor assured the
readers that the Register would ‘advocate the most perfect liberty of discussion, on all
subjects calculated to instruct or amuse’.46
In publishing this item in the second issue of the Register, Alexander Matheson
(1805–1886), who was in charge of the publication told his uncle James Matheson,
who was on a business trip in Macao, that the ‘offensive paragraph will, I have not the
smallest doubt, give notoriety to the paper, and gain it many subscribers in India’.47
This was typical of the Warlike party’s ways: they were not afraid of controversy
but rather used it to their advantage. In this instance, the concepts of the free-born
Englishman’s freedom of speech became entangled in commercial gains. In the dis-
course of ‘freedom’ the confinement of China’s trade to one port under the Canton
system seemed especially restrictive. The conflation made the Canton community
especially agitated in the years of 1830 and 1831.
The roots of this agitation went back to 1828, when the EIC began improving the
quay in front of the British Factories and the surrounding area. Because the landing
spot in the Pearl River was becoming shallow, the EIC Select Committee, who collec-
tively represented the company and before 1834 Britain, requested extending the quay
farther into the water. The district magistrate of Panyu, where the Thirteen Factories
were located, disallowed this project and sent in workers to dredge the river instead.
Unsatisfied with this work, the EIC made its request again. The quay extension was
completed after Governor-General Li Hongbin (1767–1848) intervened.
The next year the British expressed a wish to build walls to separate the quay from
the Chinese landing spot beside it. Although this request was disallowed, the west-
facing wall was built. When the Canton authorities came to investigate, they did not
destroy the wall but prohibited the building of the other two walls facing east and
south, as they would have protruded into the waterway. On the night of 3 March
1830, the Select Committee brought in more than one hundred sailors and soldiers
to build another section of wall and fill up the low-lying land in front of the factory.
The Hong merchants who acted as go-betweens for the foreign merchants and the
Qing official reported this and the authorities ordered its destruction, but the order
was not carried out.
The following year, upon returning to the court at Peking in April 1831 after visit-
ing Canton, Executive Assistant Supervising Censor Shao Zhenghu reported to the
Daoguang emperor that the foreigners in Canton were unruly. The construction
of the quay and the flattened ground were identified among the eight major viola-
tions that foreigners had committed. A month later a reprimanding edict arrived in
Canton, prompting Governor Zhu Guizhen and Custom Commissioner Zhongxiang
to visit the Thirteen Factories. They ordered the destruction of the walls and the
removal of the filled earth. It was on this occasion, upon entering the English Factory,
that the governor ordered a portrait uncovered, and found it to be a portrait of King
George IV (r. 1820–1830). Governor Zhu then ordered the back of his chair to be
turned to it.48
As it was not the trading season at the time, the Select Committee and the rest of the
EIC staff were in Macao. And the more sympathetic Governor-General Li happened
to be away from Canton. When the EIC staff learned of the destruction of the walls
and the intrusion into the factory, Secretary to the Select Committee Hugh Hamilton
Lindsay (1802–1881) was sent to Canton. He delivered a message that threatened to
suspend trade in August when the new season started if a satisfactory explanation
from the Canton authorities was not forthcoming. Lindsay then presented the keys
of their factory to the Canton authorities, stating the following: ‘We have no means at
present of protecting our property against aggression, and we therefore abandon it.’49
By this time, Governor-General Li had arrived back in Canton and directed the
Hong merchants to return the remonstrance and the keys. The Register described
this move as ‘offensive’.50 Lindsay then drew up a Chinese placard to be disseminated
among the Chinese to stir up Chinese public opinion and catch the attention of
the authorities.51 Twenty-one private merchants headed by Jardine and Matheson
signed a resolution in support of Lindsay’s action. They argued that Governor Zhu’s
actions at the factory constituted a ‘gratuitous insult offered to the picture of the King
of England’ and resulted in a ‘national injury’.52
This played into the controversy of October 1830, when one Mrs Baynes, wife of
Chief Superintendent of the Select Committee William Baynes, ignored the rule that
no Western women were allowed to visit Canton.53 The Canton authorities threat-
ened to use force to expel Mrs Baynes. Guns, cannon, and soldiers were brought
from the ships anchored in the Whampoa seaport to guard against the Canton
authorities’ search of the factories. Chinese Hong merchant Xie Wu (Woo-Yay)
was jailed for sending a sedan chair for Mrs Baynes to use while travelling from the
landing quay to the English Factory.54 The EIC staff made great efforts to rescue him
to no avail. Xie died in custody before his exile to the frontier town of Yili. The hos-
tilities ended only when Mrs Baynes left Canton.55 These disturbances prompted the
Canton authorities to introduce new and tighter regulations.56
The quay and Mrs Baynes incidents, the death of Xie Wu, the new regulations, the
Register’s reports and comments, the Chinese placards, the English version of their
remonstrance to the Canton authorities, and the edicts issued by the Canton authori-
ties that were translated by the Register gave readers in Canton plenty to discuss.57 The
whole saga remained a popular topic of conversation in 1831 and 1832 and continued
to resound over the following years.58
The war argument flared up during the disturbances; so did the pacific argu-
ment. One reader using the pseudonym A British Merchant commented that the
‘indignities offered to the British flag in this country are little known and would not
readily be believed. . . . What has been gained by this concession, so derogatory to
British feelings?’ He also implied elsewhere that war was an option.59 In the next
issue of the Register, ‘An Englishman’ ‘in the hope of drawing the attention of the
English public’ commented that war was unnecessary and would damage commerce.
He proposed instead ‘to seize and fortify one of the numerous barren islets on the
coast, as a safe depot for her commerce; protected by a small Naval force’.60 These
two remarks elicited strong comments from a reader known as Veritas, who argued
that the British behaved badly in China, that the conditions here were good for them
and that the British had ‘no claim whatever on the Chinese Government’.61 This
criticism of the belligerence was in turn repudiated by a ‘Fair Play’, who asked, ‘Since
England rose into a great and powerful nation, has she yielded to indignity and insult
as she has done here?’ He then linked the EIC tea trade with national honour, saying,
‘We have a right to insist that the trade shall not be, as now, purchased at the high
price of national disgrace’.62
The comments were written with the expectation that they would be read, quoted,
and discussed, as indeed they were not only in Canton and elsewhere in Asia but also
in London.63 The readers knew their comments would contribute to the formation
of British domestic opinion of China. Some used this channel to promote war, and
others felt obliged to stamp out the fire.
In the public sphere of Canton during the early 1830s, the war idea was still being
formulated, as the community argued over Britain’s China policy and the necessity of
a war. There was no guarantee that the war argument would be welcome in London
or have direct bearing on the British state’s foreign policy for China. The pacific idea
shadowed the war argument from the very moment of its inception. It was only after
the Napier Affair in late 1834 that the Warlike party became resolute and took action
to campaign and lobby for a war with China.
In the first three years of the 1830s, the Warlike party discovered the connection
between Britain-China trade and Adam Smith’s theory of free trade. It not only fused
its war argument with Smithian theory but also sought to teach the Chinese the idea
of free trade as the secret of national wealth, in the hope that China would willingly
open up to British trade and influence from the inside. They believed trade would
benefit China as it has benefited Britain.
The Warlike party’s free trade
In the early 1830s, political circles in London were deeply immersed in discussion
of free trade, and it was promoted most fervently by none other than the politicians
sitting on the Board of Trade.64 Campaigns against the Corn Laws were working
to convince the British nation that relaxing import restrictions would lower food
prices, which in turn would enable manufacturers to cut workers’ wages to increase
productivity. The believers of free trade also claimed that it would raise the purchas-
ing power of grain-exporting countries in Europe for the consumption of British
products. Underlying the cry for a ‘cheap loaf ’ was the economic tension between a
rising manufacturing and export industry and a declining agricultural sector, which
translated into a struggle for political power between the industrial middle class and
the landed aristocracy. Richard Cobden (1804–1865) and John Bright (1811–1889)
established the Anti-Corn Law League in London in 1836 and by 1838 were firmly
rooted in Manchester, where the new industrial middle class believed they stood to
gain from the abolition of the Corn Laws and the promotion of a free trade ethos.65
The free trade doctrine was also the force behind the abolition of the EIC’s
monopoly in both India and China, which had an immediate consequence for the
political-economic structure of the Canton port. The northern manufacturers of
Britain had tasted the fruit of free trade in selling their machine-made textile goods
to Indian markets when the EIC’s trade monopoly there was abolished, throwing
open the Indian market in 1813. The Manchester Chamber of Commerce was the
single most important force against the 1833 EIC charter renewal, which it saw as a
battleground for expanding the textile trade into Chinese markets.66
While the EIC monopoly was under attack in London, the balance of economic
power at Canton coincidentally tipped in favour of the private merchants in the late
1820s. The demise of the EIC enabled British private merchants to further expand
their trade. In this air of change, the members of the Warlike party of Canton saw
themselves more than before as free traders, as after 1834 they were operating under
a free trade system without constrains of the EIC monopoly. They proudly included
the words of Board of Trade president Charles Grant (1778–1866) as an epigraph for
every issue of the Register beginning in January 1834:
The free traders appear to cherish high notions of their claims and privileges.
Under their auspices a free press is already maintained at Canton; and should
their commerce continue to increase, their importance will rise also. They will
regard themselves as the depositaries of the true principles of British commerce.67
The private merchants of Canton were not just calling themselves ‘free traders’ but
were now known as that by others. And the Canton Register was considered an advo-
cate of the ‘true principle’ of the British commercial spirit: free trade. This made the
Warlike party think that they were recognized and promoting a good cause in China.
The EIC’s China monopoly was the enemy of the Canton traders’ free trade before
1834. Thereafter, it was the Hong merchants who monopolized the trade on Chinese
side and the Qing government who established the Canton one-port system of trade.
The free traders considered it their duty to change the conditions of Britain’s China
trade, and they wanted the British government to come to their aid in the crusade
against enemies of free trade.68 The Register printed the following after the last group
of EIC staff departed Canton in April 1834 and the monopoly had formally ended:
The departures for England in the last week have been many; and the Free trade
has commenced with much spirit unsupported by any other aid than the skill
and capital embarked in it, and unprotected by any resident British authority; but
although we have every confidence in the final result of the new system, we would
much rather have seen the British flag flying in Canton, and the free trade com-
menced under its shadow.69
Napier was the ‘resident British authority’ to arrive in July. He may have failed in his
confrontation with the Chinese authorities and the Canton system, but the Warlike
party stayed firm on its wish for extensive British free trade in China. Eleven days
before Napier’s untimely death, an article published on 30 September read as follows:
The readiest and most eligible means of establishing and conducting an extended
commerce with this empire is now—and will, for some time to come, be our prin-
cipal object; free trade to every port of China, acknowledged and protected by the
government—is the grand prize before us: This is obviously far paramount to any
stinted privileges which we can aim at gaining in the single port of Canton. . . .
Let us, then, take a short view of the means which the British nation has in its
power for the attainment of so desirable and beneficial an end, as an open trade
with all China.70
The ‘means’ of British governmental intervention that this article referred to was
China’s treatment of Napier. This was before his death. The Warlike party already
believed that the exchange thus far warranted a war: ‘Adequate cause has lately been
given by the Canton government to the British nation to commence active hostilities
against it.’ The party wanted to use the case to urge the British government to send
‘naval power’ to ‘cut off the internal and external supplies of the empire’ and to display
British military strength:
A British representative may also be negotiating at Peking, or, at least, may

arouse the attention of the Chinese court by such a remonstrance as also never
before tingled in celestial ears. We think that by thus practicing on their fears—
sometimes, perhaps, on their hopes—we may change the current of national

feeling, which has been so long and so skilfully directed against us by the govern-
ment, and attain a vantage ground of honor and respect in the opinion of the
people and partially of the government that will induce the son of heaven to listen
to our terms of international intercourse: for it appears, both from the obstinacy
of the local and the ignorance of the Peking government, that nothing short of an
exhibition of irresistible strength, and a fixed determination to use it (if required
by further barbarous and misanthropic acts), will ever bring the emperor and his
officers to a just sense of their relative position with the rest of mankind.71
This indirectly expressed bellicose outlook ended by asking the British government
to demand a ‘commercial treaty’ from China. The groundwork of an argument for
a war against China has been laid by this time. Ten days later, after Napier’s death,
the Warlike party poignantly drew up its petition. The grief over Napier’s death, the
sense of national indignation over China’s treatment of Napier, and the desire for free
trade congealed, and when they met the sense that Britain was the most powerful
nation in the world, the war idea became even more assertive.72
The Chinese Courier, published by American William Wightman Wood, took
the same position on free trade and on starting a war as the Register, although most
American merchants in Canton disapproved of the war idea. In its first issue in July
1831, printed in the wake of the disturbed two years, an article entitled ‘Free Trade to
China’ advanced the following argument: ‘Treaties for the protection of the Foreign
Trade are to be dictated to the “Son of Heaven” at the point of the bayonet.’ The
September issue claimed that ‘nothing is to be gained from China but by force of
arms’.73 Although a missionary journal, the Chinese Repository advocated free trade
on behalf of the merchants; its language was not as enthusiastic and colourful as that
of the Register and the Courier.74 While the Repository was ambiguous about the rela-
tionship between free trade and starting a war, the Canton Press clearly spelled out
that it supported the free trade idea but opposed war arguments.75
In the language of free trade, the British merchants of Canton found the one-port
system unjust, as it stifled not only British trade but also the opportunity for the
Chinese people to progress. China came off as a backward country in this context, as it
was not participating the ‘great march of civilization’—the free trade of the British.
Teaching the Chinese free trade
In the years of disturbance in Canton between 1830 and 1831, the idea of impart-
ing the free trade doctrine to the Chinese was first spelled out. This anticipated the
Warlike party’s more extensive efforts in teaching the Chinese how to understand the
Europeans in the form of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China
between 1834 and 1839. They believed transmitting free trade ideas would change the
alleged Chinese attitude of aversion to commerce.
In its second issue of May 1831, the Register called for translations of ‘the latest
editions of Dr. Adam Smith’s work on the wealth of nations, Malthus’, M’Culloch’s and
Mill’s principles, &c. of Political Economy’. ‘In China,’ the article argued, ‘there is one
prevailing sentiment throughout the nation which it would be necessary to obviate,
viz: that a high regard for honor and morals is not compatible with the pursuit of
wealth either individual or national.’ The author drew attention to a piece of well-
known passage by the Confucianist Mencius (372–289 BCE):
The sacred language of Mung-tsze [Mencius], to King Hwuy, will rise up in

the mind of every Chinese, against making the increase of wealth avowedly a
national study. The said king accosted Mung-tsze thus: ‘As you have come so far,
I suppose you have some scheme for the profit of my country’. To which Mencius
(as Mung-tsze has been latinized) answered, ‘O king, why speak of profit,
or increase of wealth; benevolence and justice are sufficient. Speak only of
benevolence and justice, talk not of national wealth’. It seems indeed the universal
belief of mankind, that virtue is more nearly related to poverty, than to riches.
And the political economists of Europe would have made their lucubrations
more palatable to the general taste, had they made moral considerations more
prominent in their theories than they have done.76
This is asserting that an attitude towards commerce that emphasized the concepts
of ‘benevolence and justice’ as Mencius did meant that the Chinese put Confucian
morality above commerce. The author believed this should be changed, the sooner
the better, and the ideas in The Wealth of Nations defined what true morality was for
the Chinese.
The author then worried that, because the works of Adam Smith were ‘pecu-
liarly European’, they would be ‘unintelligible to Chinese readers’ in translation: ‘For
example: the mercantile system of Europe; the corn laws; the tythes; the banking
system; paper money; & c.’ The article thus proposed ‘a book written expressly for the
purpose’ instead of a direct translation.77 A month later, a contest was advertised in
the Register to achieve this aim:
We are authorized to announce to Chinese Students generally, that a prize of Fifty

Pounds sterling will be given for the best Essay, of about two hundred octavo
pages, in the Chinese language, on Political Economy. The Essay to explain the
more easily intelligible and practically useful doctrines of the science, in a manner
calculated to carry conviction to the minds of Chinese readers; with reference to
such of the writings of the Chinese sages, as tend to elucidate the subject, and
avoiding the more abstruse doctrines, or doubtful questions on which the phi-
losophers of the West are not agreed.78
To facilitate the work, Adam Smith’s books and the newly published A Dictionary,
Practical, Theoretical and Historical of Commerce and Commercial Navigation (1832),
by Ricardian School economist leader John Ramsey McCulloch (1789–1864), along
with other books related to free trade were sent from London.79
In the years following the essay contest, articles and treatises on the subject of
political economy were published in Chinese. Either Robert Morrison or his son
John Robert Morrison wrote a treatise entitled Zhiguo zhi yong dalüe (A sketch on
the practicalities of policymaking), and the Prussian missionary Karl Gützlaff (1803–
1851) published a series of articles and a treatise named Maoyi tongzhi (General
account on trade, 1840).80
It is likely that Zhiguo was polished by an able hand of the Chinese literati, as the
Chinese theory of governing was heavily present in the text. In the first section, at the
very beginning, the treatise talked about the importance of agricultural management
to the welfare of the people (min)—note, not the ‘nation’. The role of the benevo-
lent monarch (mingjun) was to ensure that the agricultural processes of the country
proceeded properly every year in accordance with nature. This typical Chinese agri-
culturalist statement was rather contrary to the free trade doctrine. It could have
been the insertion of the polisher or functioned as a clever device that signified a
familiar genre and created a foundation for the easier acceptance of Smithian political
economy—precisely what was required of the Register’s prize essay.
The subsequent sections indeed argued about the free trade ideas. The section
related to currency (qian) stated that the standardization of currency was the founda-
tion of trade and that the benevolent monarch should take care to manage it. It then
told a story about how the mining of silver and gold made Spain and Portugal rich,
but that they had no talent and ability in governing (wu caineng). Meanwhile, Britain
manufactured goods to trade for gold and silver, which it held in large supply. Thus,
‘free’ trade genuinely enriched the country.81 The term renyi zhi maoyi rendered here
was probably the closest direct translation of ‘free trade’. Curiously, renyi translated
back into English would be ‘letting the will be’. This accorded much more freedom
than the later standardized rendition of free trade as ziyou maoyi (auto-directed
trade). The translation renyi corresponded to the Warlike party’s understanding of
free trade, which was to trade as they wished.
In another section, entitled ‘Managing Production’ (huaji), the treatise argued
that every country had its appropriate specialization. For example, the Chinese were
good at agricultural production, and the Western countries (xiguo) specialized in
managing livestock. The world’s construction made trade necessary. Farmers, arti-
sans, and merchants were equally encouraged to prosper, as it would have great ben-
efits to the nation and people.82 This gave China one more reason to allow British
extensive trade. The treatise also dealt with such topics as taxation, budgeting, and the
military that all centred on the issue of free trade.
From late 1837 to late 1838, Gützlaff published a series of articles entitled ‘Trade’
(tongshang and maoyi) in the Chinese magazine Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan
(Eastern Western monthly magazine, 1833–1838), which was first published by
Gützlaff himself and later served as the official magazine to the Society for the
Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China.83 Gützlaff ’s articles emphasized the argu-

ment that the nation became more prosperous as its trade became more widely prac-
tised, similar to that of Morrison’s.84
In addition to the theoretical narrative, Gützlaff used fictional writing to spread
the gospel of free trade. He created a Chinese protagonist called Lin Xing, an Amoy
merchant who conducted trade between Canton and Singapore. The necessity and
benefits of trade in the Smithian vein were revealed through Lin’s eyes and his dia-
logue with friends, who included a Chinese customs official and foreign merchants in
the Thirteen Factories.85
Some parts of the articles in the magazine were used in Gützlaff ’s more com-
prehensive introductory treatise, Maoyi.86 The treatise, like Morrison’s, was well
polished, and especially compared with the composition of the articles published in
the magazine. It also afforded a general survey of trading developments in Asian,
European, African and American countries.87 Maoyi told a more coherent story of
free trade than did the articles in the magazine. Gützlaff explained that Western coun-
tries had come to find free trade a better system than others. This was done through
the introduction of how the East India Companies of the Dutch and the British
were developed, only later to prove a failure and be replaced by ‘loose merchants’
(sanshang, i.e., non-Company merchants)—the private merchants.88 Gützlaff accen-
tuated the role of private merchants in transforming the world. This was perhaps not
far from how some of the British merchants saw their trade.
Because their Christianity connections, Gützlaff ’s and Morrison’s treatises and
articles involved copious references to the Christian God, in places where they
saw appropriate—a common practice in missionaries’ writings related to Western
history and geography published in Chinese from the period. This was one of their
means of accustoming the Chinese to their worldview: Western development was
attributed to the power of almighty God. And this was their way of participating in
the Asian maritime world of traders.89
Both Morrison and Gützlaff ’s treatises among other foreign Chinese publications
were adopted by Wei Yuan (1794–1857), who published one of the earliest books to
introduce the Western world when the First Opium War ended in 1842.90 It is
rather difficult to determine how the Chinese would have understood the abridged
introductions to free trade. What clear is that these translated doctrines had little if
any direct effect in terms of their aim of transforming China through Chinese publi-
cations. Two viewpoints give a glimpse into what the effort to teach free trade ideas,
which the merchants pursued so energetically, meant to the Chinese readers.
What did the free trade economists in London think of trade in Canton? The
private merchants eagerly sought their theories to pass on to the Chinese. But to their
dismay, the most prominent contemporary proponent of free trade, John Ramsey
McCulloch, viewed the Hong system of trade in Canton as no worse or better than
the trade conducted in New York and Liverpool. His Dictionary of 1832, of which the
Canton community had at least two copies, contained the following section about
trade in Canton:91
Hong, or Security Merchants—It may be supposed, perhaps, from the previous

statements, that difficulties are occasionally experienced before a hong merchant
can be prevailed upon to become security for a ship; but such is not the case. None
of them has ever evinced any hesitation in this respect. The Americans, who have
had as many as forty ships in one year at Canton, have never met with a refusal.
The captain of a merchant ship may resort to any hong merchant he pleases,
and, by way of making him some return for his becoming security, he generally
buys from him 100l or 200l worth of goods. Individuals are, however, at perfect
liberty to deal with any hong merchant, whether he has secured their ship or not,
or with any outside merchant; that is, with any Chinese merchant not belonging to
the hong. So that, though there are only 10 hong merchants at Canton, there is,
notwithstanding, quite as extensive a choice of merchants with whom to deal in
that city, as in either Liverpool or New York.92
McCulloch’s opinion of Canton demonstrates that although the British traders of

Canton saw themselves as free traders working against the double monopolies of
the EIC and Hong merchants at the Canton port and partly advocated a war against
China on this ground, free trade economists did not think that the notorious Hong
merchant system contradicted free trade. In The Wealth of Nations, Adam Smith
regularly referred to China and considered it to be stagnating but not backward.
He did not comment directly on the Canton port.93 This indicates that Britain did not
consider the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Canton system as an issue
for British trade.
Did the Chinese put ‘morals’ and ‘honour’ above commerce? In the Register article
that called for translating the political economy, the author also noted the follow-
ing, ‘Mung-tsze [Mencius], more than two thousand years ago, stated very distinctly
Adam Smith’s discovery—the division of labour the cause of productive power & c.’
It referred to a section of the Mencius in a new 1828 translation by Protestant mis-
sionary David Collie.94 The account was about Mencius meeting Chin Seang. Chin
was at first a Confucianist like Mencius but abandoned the philosophy to follow
Heu Hing (372–289 BCE) in practising the doctrines of the legendary agricultural
sage Shennong. Heu Hing and his disciples were given a piece of land by the prince of
Tang (reign 326–? BCE) on which to live and work. However, Heu Hing was not fully
satisfied with the prince as a virtuous ruler in the manner of Shennong’s teaching.
Upon Mencius’s arrival at Tang, Chin Seang discussed this issue with Mencius:
Chin Seang having waited upon Mencius said to him, speaking the words of
Heu Hing, the Prince of Tang really wishes to be a virtuous Prince, but he has
not heard the doctrine of good government. A truly virtuous Prince will plough
along with his people and while he rules will cook his own food. Tang has its royal
granaries and treasuries while the people are oppressed in order to make the ruler
easy and comfortable. How can this be deemed virtue!
Mencius replied, does Heu Tsze [Heu Hing] sow the grain which he eats? Yes.
Does Heu Tsze weave cloth and then wear it? No. Heu Tsze wears coarse hair
cloth. Does Heu Tsze wear a cap? Yes. What sort of cap? A coarse cap. Does he
make it himself? No. He gives grain in exchange for it. Why does he not make it
himself? It would be injurious to his farming. Does Heu Tsze use earthen ware in
cooking his victuals, or iron utensils in tilling his farm? Yes. Does he make them
himself? No. He gives grain in barter for them.
Exchanging grain for these tools does no injury to the potter, and how can
the potter’s exchanging these implements for grain bear hard upon the husband-
man? . . . O then (said Mencius) are the government of the Empire and the labor
of the husbandman the only employments that may be united? There are the
proper employments of men of superior rank, and the appropriate labors of those
in inferior stations. Were every man to do all kinds of work, it would be neces-
sary that he should first make his implements, and then use them; thus all men
would constantly crowd the roads. Hence, it has been said (by the ancients) that
some labor with their minds, and some with bodily strength. Those who labor
with their strength, are ruled by men. Those who are governed by others, support
(or feed) others. Those who govern others, are fed by others. This is a general rule
under the whole heavens.95
This passage reveals that Confucian learning argued non-anecdotally that trade
was necessary for a society to function. The Register, Morrison, and Gützlaff quoted
this dialogue and other related paragraphs of the passage from the Mencius several
times in their respective articles and treatises.96 To them, it narrated the Chinese
view of commerce, to which they could anchor arguments for free trade. Where then
was the alleged Chinese mentality of aversion to commerce? Arguments like those
of Mencius were available more than 2,000 years before the private merchants
arrived in China and could be found in one of the four classic texts that every edu-
cated person memorized and was tested on during their upbringing and in the Civil
Service Examination. What was the significance of these Chinese writings to the
project of imparting the free trade doctrine to the Chinese? Were the Chinese more
concerned about ‘morality’ and ‘honour’? The textual references they implemented
should have given them an indication that the restriction of trade to Canton and
their wishes to expand into Chinese market were far more complicated than simply
asking the Chinese to adopt free trade. The next chapter will explain how Canton
Chinese merchants’ desire for a monopoly on European trade and the Qing’s dynastic
state security considerations played major roles in the establishment of the Canton
one-port system. Nevertheless, the Canton British merchants’ assertion of China’s
anti-commerce attitude lasted as an image of China for more than a century after the
British had won the war.
The Pacific party’s China
The Pacific party’s fight with the Warlike party had within it an element of personal
quarrel. It began with Jardine withholding correspondence that contained informa-
tion related to the failure of a firm in Calcutta, which caused the Dents to suffer
financially.97 Dent & Co. was the second-biggest Canton firm and the chief rival of
Jardine, Matheson & Co. None of the family or staff members of Dent & Co. signed
the war petition of December 1834, nor did they sign a petition in December 1830
that was drawn up in the wake of the decade-long failure of the cotton trade, implor-
ing the British government to negotiate with the Chinese to improve their trade con-
ditions in Canton. However, the Dents had signed a petition to the Qing authorities
on the same issue fourteen months earlier.98 It was around the early 1830s that they
fell out with Jardine, Matheson & Co. The fight between the two firms coincided with
the inception of the war argument in the Canton community and dramatized the
war-or-peace dispute.
After the Press’s publication in 1835, the rivalry between the two firms escalated
into a bitter fight between the two newspapers. The Press seemed to play up its pacific
attitude to antagonize Jardine, Matheson, and warlike merchants associated with
them. The two newspapers fought each other over almost every issue until the eve of
the war. Their antagonism was so fierce that the use of a single word could become
a point of dispute. At the height of their war of words in 1836, the Press, which pub-
lished on Saturdays, left column space vacant until the last minute to respond to
points made by the Register, which was usually published on Tuesdays.99 The pacific
agenda that the Press adopted even made the Register suggest that the Press was ‘rep-
resenting through Howqua’s dollars’ and that this explained its friendliness towards
the Chinese.100
Personal rivalry apart, the Warlike and Pacific parties had disparate images of
China, for instance, in their respective newspaper reports on an incident in December
1835, when a boat belonging to the British merchants travelling between Macao and
Canton was seized by Chinese customs guards for alleged smuggling. The Register
asked, ‘How much longer shall the glorious flags of Europe and America be lowered
to the many coloured frippery-drapery of China?’ Having seen the Register report,
which was published nine days earlier, the Press consciously decided to focus on the
issue of an unjustified ‘ransom’ (or bail sum) paid to the Canton authorities.101 The
Press did not link the case to a general narrative of national hostility like the Register.
Rather, its viewpoint focused on the justice of governing.
The Singapore Chronicle (1824–1837) often debated the Register, and, before the
Press was published, it actively offered a platform for Canton residents who were
unsatisfied with the Register’s war position and wished to have their voices heard else-
where in Asia.102 In his letter to John Purvis in Singapore, Matheson told his version
of the Napier Affair to forestall the Singapore Chronicle’s possible publication of

Napier’s transactions in Canton, which would put the Warlike party at a disadvantage.
Being well-connected and respected in the free trade port, Purvis was told to show
his letter to a ‘George’, who Matheson knew had connections with the newspaper.
Matheson urged that if ‘it should be possible by any means to prevent their publica-
tion, it would be still better than having to contradict them afterwards’.103 The rivalry
in Canton was played out not just in Singapore but in public spheres of other Asian
ports. When the Press began publishing in 1835, the Calcutta Courier commented
as follows:
Party feeling has unfortunately run so high of late in the little society of outside
barbarians [Canton], that no editor could escape the infection, and it has long
been very evident that the Register does yield to a bias and represents only the
views and feelings of one portion of that Society. We at a distance shall now
benefit by hearing both sides of the question in matters of local interest.104
This gives an indication that some British merchants in other Asian port cities were
disinterested in the war argument and believed other opinions were missing from the
Register’s reports. Thus the Press was welcomed by them.
In its manifesto, the Press outlined its aims of ‘diffusing truth’ and being an ‘upright
journalist’. Making concessions to the affections of ‘sweet home’, the Press avowed,
‘We shall not be swayed by any affected sensibility, by any tenderness for individual
national feeing, from a candid discussion of subjects, in which the honour and repu-
tation of a country may be involved.’ The intention to be an ‘objective journalist’ was
further pronounced in an epigraph quoted from Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790) that
served as a heading in every issue:105
If by the liberty of the press were understood merely the liberty of discussing the
propriety of public measures and political opinions, let us have as much of it as
you please: but if it means the liberty of affronting, calumniating, and defaming
one another, I, for my part, own myself willing to part with my share of it when-
ever our legislators shall please so to alter the law, and shall cheerfully consent
to exchange my liberty of abusing others for the privilege of not being abused
myself.106
This epigraph was in sharp contrast to the Register’s, which displayed the paper’s
chauvinistic attitude and pride in being the bearer of free trade to China. The Press’s
epigraph was about justice and morality, and it indicated the paper’s far softer tone
in discussing intercourse with China in both its editorial commentary and letters to
the editor. The Press used phrases such as ‘cultivating a friendly feeling’, ‘encourage
these exchanges of banquets among foreign merchants and Hong merchants’, and
‘we shall take care to promote that good understanding which may eventually soften
the restrictions’.107
Contrary to the Register’s constant depictions of the mandarins in Canton as

corrupt and incompetent, when Governor-General Lu Kun finished his term in office
in Canton (1832–1835), the Press described him as having ‘a great deal of political
skill and an unshaken adherence to the established and before recognised customs
of his country’. It praised District Judge Fooyun’s (Fu Yuan) job of suppressing piracy
along the routes of foreign ships to Canton, and commented that ‘they never move or
meddle in political strife’.108
The Press also expressed an opposing opinion to the Register when Chief
Superintendent of British Trade in China Charles Elliot (1801–1875), who was the
third successor to Napier, left Canton for good in 1837: ‘We see no reason to assume
that the Chinese are our enemies, nor can we at all understand how their treatment
has wounded the honour of the British as to call for bloody retribution.’109
The Press hardly focused on the argument of ‘national honour’ and ‘national
interest’—which were the thrust of Warlike party’s ideas. There was war language
in one issue but ‘the Editorship of the Canton Press was changed very soon after’.110
This one mention prompted the Register to accuse the Press of being hypocritical in
attacking its war position. The Press responded as follows:
We declare candidly that we are not independent as the Canton Register avers to
be, but that it is laid down as a rule, sine qua non, by our principal supporters and
friends, that this paper shall advocate none but pacific measures to be adopted for
the purpose of gaining a more genial and dignified station among the Chinese,
and that the progress commerce is making is an agency quite sufficient to effect
this ultimately and effectively.111
The Pacific party gathered under the Press believed in a laissez-faire approach and
the power of commerce, behaving, it could be argued, as a more genuine disciple of
Adam Smith than did the Warlike party. The Pacific party actively wanted peace, and
the argument it developed in the Press was rather popular. The Press was welcomed
by other English newspapers in Asia and had a higher circulation than the Register.
A survey conducted by the Chinese Repository shows that in 1836 the circulations of
the Register and Press were 280 and 325 copies per week, respectively.112 These figures
include subscriptions outside Canton and must be interpreted with caution given the
polemical situation in Canton. However, they show that the Pacific party attracted a
slim majority of readers over the Warlike party.
The Press disagreed with the war petition of December 1834 and questioned its
legitimacy in representing Canton’s British community. The petition gathered thirty-
five signatures of ‘native British residents in China’, the total numbers of which in
Canton that year was eighty-six. The ninety-one names on the war petition included
the thirty-five signatures in addition to twenty-nine ‘commanders of British ships’,
twenty-five ‘transient British merchants, supercargoes and pursers of ships’ and two
‘merchants of Singapore’. The Press believed these groups of British had no right to
sign a petition related to the British residential trader of Canton. It also argued that
none of the sixty-three Parsees, who were also ‘British subjects’ and were residential
traders, ‘put their names to such a petition’. Based on this, the Press claimed that the
war petition was not the majority opinion of the British in Canton.113
The Press then dampened enthusiasm for the war petition by posing the following
questions: ‘What are petitions of merchants? What do they avail? And who of the
ministry care a straw about them?’114 They pointed out the superfluous aspects of the
merchants’ patriotism and their rhetoric of national honour, and gave away what they
saw as the real intention of the petition:
From the King in Council, down to the drones of the Foreign office, all know
what a petition from a few British subjects residing in a foreign state means; they
know that it means nothing more than a mercenary design on the credulity of
the Foreign secretary, in the shape of, and dressed up, in the specious language of
individuals aiming at acquiring something, for their shew of sensitiveness for the
honour and dignity of their king and country.115
In general, the Pacific party believed that China had the right to conduct its own
policy as it wished, and that the British who traded in Canton should submit to the
rules of the Chinese. Thus, the Press disagreed with the Register on the issue that the
Chinese authorities maltreated foreigners. One reader with the pseudonym A Citizen
of the World wrote the following in the Press:
As for Commercial grievances we have none, literally none, and if any how do
we meet them? Are we not smugglers on a large scale? Deceive ourselves as we
please, we are smugglers.116
This candid admission contrasted sharply with the Lintin smuggler’s identity of the
Warlike party. The Pacific party were honest about the unofficial trade and did not try
as the Warlike party did to tarnish China’s image in order to justify the opium trade.
Could personal rivalry and differences of opinion push the argument as far as this?
It seems the Pacific party—as represented by the words of A Citizen of the World—
was appalled by the Warlike party’s insincerity in conducting the illicit trade while at
the same time wanting to start a war. A Citizen of the World further condemned the
Warlike party:
We Britains are an unruly set, we cannot content ourselves with reforming our
own institutions, but we must need have a touch at all others in China. A tho’ in
almost utter ignorance of the character, habits and genius of the people, we have
determined that we ought to regulate the wheels of Government in Canton,
instead of contenting ourselves with the good the Gods provide us. We wish
to force a Chinese Provincial Government to recognize an authority previous
to such being accredited by the Imperial Government; wish to force on them
notions of our own as to commercial intercourse, to set aside very thing which
has been the customary mode of action amongst them; and because forsooth
they would not recognize an authority possessing no defined political character

armed with no powers, producing no credentials, we are to order our frigates in
to the heart of the Commercial resort for shipping knowing that the Chinese do
not permit their Bogue Forts to be passed by armed vessels, and because the Forts
resisted the Passage, we are to invade their Coasts, threaten with war, destroy
their Commercial shipping, and oh! horrible to mention, indict as badly written
and nonsensical a petition to the King in Council as ever spoiled pen, ink and
paper. I advert to this recent operation as evincing the spirit under which British
Merchants conduct their affairs, and engender the hatred and suspicion of the
country in which they are permitted to reside.117
In the Press’s arguments, one senses that the Chinese political system and customs
were understood and accepted, which was rarely seen in the Register, especially after
the Napier Affair. With the promise of objectivity, the Press in another article linked
China’s ‘policy of non-intercourse’ with British expansion in the East, presenting a
sympathetic view of Canton’s one-port system:
The Chinese government cannot but be aware of the rapid strides the English
power is making in India so as even already to press upon the frontiers of the
Empire and it is probable that the only cause of its having hitherto escaped losing
any part of its territory has been the foreign policy the government has ever
pursued, and comparing the success they have met with, to the fate of so many
powerful Indian monarchies. Now totally annihilated and merged in the British
empire we must not be astonished to find the Court at Peking resolved not to
deviate from a line of policy which has been hitherto so eminently successful.118
The Press was able to see the Canton system and restrictions on foreigners from the
perspective of China’s foreign policy. It also understood the Qing authorities’ concern
for maritime border defence in relation to their trade policy in the presence of British
encroachment in the East.
In fact, the Register was aware of the political climate in the region and published
a few articles related to Qing China’s concerns over the presence of foreigners in Asia.
However, it either could not or refused to tune in to this information and under-
stand China in the way the Press did. The overall perspective of the Warlike party was
informed by the national strength of Britain in the post-Napoleonic era and excited
by the arguments of free trade. Thus, they argued that British traders were suffer-
ing in China at the hands of a tyrannical Chinese government and connected this
to the discourse of British national honour and national interests. These constituted
good reasons for the British nation, or empire, to intervene, which was what the party
wanted and what coloured their representation of China.
The Americans in the port also factored in to the war-or-peace argument of
Canton. The Press praised their ‘tranquil mode of business’ as most of the American
merchants believed that they should follow China’s laws when they were in Canton.119
After seeing a pamphlet published in London in 1830 that in his opinion distorted
the case of Francis Terranova, an American merchant published his account.

Terranova was an Italian sailor on board an American ship who accidentally killed a
Chinese woman and was sentenced to strangulation in 1821.120 The American disa-
greed with what he saw as the British using the case to demonize the Chinese and
accusing Americans of submitting to the alleged Chinese tyrannical legal system:
The American Government requires of us to submit peaceably to the laws of the

country we may visit, hence we consider ourselves bound to obey the laws of
China—other foreigners may take a different view of their resistance—we do
not question the propriety of their conduct—we all know the terms on which
we are admitted to trade—and know the dangerous footing on which we stand
here—whether our construction is right or wrong—so far as we are concerned,
is a question for ourselves alone.121
The American’s attitude infuriated Jardine. He expressed his fury in a letter to a

friend, and the Register printed aggressive language against the American merchants
in China.122
In sum, the thriving Asian maritime trade in Canton enabled British private mer-
chants to gain economic power: the success of the country trade and the trade in
opium in particular funded the cultural and political activities of the private mer-
chants for both the Warlike and Pacific parties. For Jardine and Matheson, the core
members of the Warlike party, financial strength lifted their social status and allowed
them to maintain their connections, run their newspapers, and hold their grand
dinners of celebration. It gave them an edge to fight the battle of ideas in the British
maritime public sphere in Canton, to express their British imperial identity, and to
solicit the intervention of the home state, calling on their nation to behave like an
assertive empire. However, being British meant precisely the opposite for the Pacific
party in terms of respecting the rights of the local authorities and being sympathetic
to the Qing state’s security fears. The warlike and pacific arguments came out of this
contradictory perception of China and expressions of British identity.
3
Breaking the Soft Border
The foreign merchants’ living and trading quarter—the Thirteen Factories lying on a
bank of the Pearl River outside the walled city of Canton—was surrounded by rail-
ings, gates, and guards, to ensure that foreigners would not leave it without a good
reason and that ordinary Chinese would not enter it.1 Records show that these physi-
cal borders were more than porous, but they were not the most important bound-
ary that the Qing dynasty bureaucrats devised to contain Europeans in China. Soft
borders—a series of rules and regulations, and political controls imposed on both
Europeans and Chinese that greatly limited their communication and interaction—
were the major line of defence.
The Canton system referred to soft borders more than physical borders. Soft
borders cut through transnational information and interaction networks that the
Qing saw as undesirable to their dynastic state security. As soft borders, the Canton
system enabled the Qing to allow foreigners to enter while checking foreign interac-
tions with Qing subjects, thus controlling foreign influences in China.
This Canton system of regulations included making Canton the only port for
Europeans, allowing trade through primarily the Hong merchants to limit contact,
creating rules for Europeans leaving China or going to Macao after the trading season
to reduce their time in China, excluding Western women from Canton to prevent
foreigners from settling down, forbidding the learning of the Chinese language and
the selling of Chinese books to Europeans so that they would not know China.2
As the Canton system attained its complete shape in the 1830s, a big portion of
British merchants’ print media coverage concerning China—and the main subject
of British merchants’ petitions, pamphleteering, and lobbying in London—was the
campaign to abolish it. As the Warlike party wished, the system was abolished after
the war. Article V of the Treaty of Nanking that concluded the war ended the role of
the Hong merchants who played a key role in the system’s implementation. Article II
stipulated the opening up of four additional ports under new conditions, finishing off
the Canton one-port system that for eighty-five years governed the Qing’s relations
with European merchants:
Breaking the Soft Border 39
Article II. His Majesty the Emperor of China agrees that British Subjects, with
their families and establishments, shall be allowed to reside, for the purposes of
carrying on their Mercantile pursuits, without molestation or restraint, at the
Cities and Towns of Canton, Amoy, Foochow-fu, Ningpo, and Shanghai.
Article V. The Government of China having compelled the British Merchants

trading at Canton to deal exclusively with certain Chinese Merchants, called Hong
Merchants (or Cohong), who had been licensed by the Chinese Government for
that purpose, the Emperor of China agrees to abolish that practice in future at all
Ports where British Merchants may reside, and to permit them to carry on their
mercantile transactions with whatever persons they please.3
The Qing dynasty (1644–1911) was founded by an ethnic minority—the Manchus—

from the north-east part of China, who ruled over the Han majority in China proper
after ousting the Ming dynasty in 1644. In the century that followed, the Qing expanded
into the north-west and south-west, creating a vast empire in the eastern part of the
Eurasian landmass.4 The century-long experience of empire building coloured how
the Manchus viewed their maritime defence, especially in facing a perceived threat
from Europeans conspiring with Han domestic rebels to overthrow their dynasty.
At the same time the coastal Chinese merchants, officials in the port cities and in the
court at Beijing wanted to trade with the Europeans to reap the benefits of commerce.
As a mechanism for controlling European trade and merchants, the Canton system
addressed the Qing’s needs for both maritime trade and maritime frontier defence.
This chapter explains how the Canton system was first officially established in the
1750s, how it came to be the way it was in the 1830s, and how the British merchants
in Canton made the system a target for war, so a treaty could abolish it.
The Canton lobby
The Canton one-port system came into existence thanks to vigorous lobbying by
the Canton Chinese merchants working together with provincial and court officials
between 1755 and 1759. The impact of the lobby on the Canton system was far greater
than historiography has heretofore revealed.5 And the crucial fact that has been over-
looked is how the Canton lobby won over the Qianlong emperor, which determined
how the system was run, how it drew justification for trade monopoly, and, most
importantly, how the system dictated Qing China’s knowledge of Europeans.
Prior to the official Canton system of 1757, the Qing’s maritime trade was rela-
tively open to Europeans. When they first conquered China proper, the Qing dynasty
imposed a policy of clearing the coast by moving people inland, in order to isolate
loyalists of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), who occupied part of China’s southern
coast and Taiwan and used these as bases to resist the Qing.6 The Qing conquest of
Taiwan in 1683, in effect, eliminated the Ming loyalists. In the same year, in response
to a request from provincial officials, who were speaking for the Chinese local mer-
chants, the Qing opened four ports: Canton, Amoy, Ningbo, and Shanghai. By 1685,
officials of the ports were collecting taxes on behalf of the court.7 Located in the low
country along the south-eastern and southern coasts, the four ports were de facto
free trade ports and were ‘like a magnet to European and local enterprise’.8 Because
the locals wanted to trade, this laissez-faire policy was a means for the Qing to
achieve ‘the traditional policy of promoting the livelihood of the people, in this case
the coastal people’.9
Of the four ports opened after 1683, Canton stood out. Both the British and the
French—the two major groups of European traders in China at this time—preferred
Canton and stayed on there while European trade at the other three ports dwindled
away.10 This means that a market-induced trading preference allowed Canton to gain
a trade monopoly. The local officials and merchants knew that this did not guarantee
Canton’s control of the trade until it won a political sanction from the court. The
opportunity afforded itself by the mid-century, as the EIC believed its trade was suf-
fering from the market-induced Canton monopoly and decided to re-enter Ningbo.
In the 1755 season, two EIC ships sailed to Ningbo’s seaport, Dinghai. The first
ship was spotted by the Chinese water forces on 2 June and the second on 8 July.11
The arrival of the British was the prelude to a fight between Ningbo and Canton for
the right to trade with Europeans. What happened in the following four years was to
determine the fate of the two ports and the structure through which the British and
the Chinese would encounter each other in the next eight decades.
Upon receiving the report of British ships coming to Dinghai, the governor-
general of Fujian and Zhejiang, Ke’erjishan (d. 1757), and governor of Zhejiang
Zhou Renji (1695?–1763) were ready to facilitate trade. They sent the British up to
Ningbo and made arrangements for hosting them while calling in Chinese merchants
to prepare for trading. In their memorials to the court about the arrangement, they
used the discourse that the British merchants came from afar to admire the culture
(muhua yuanlai), and trading with them was to implement the policy of ‘cherishing
man from afar’ (tixu, rouyuan) with the hope that the court would allow Ningbo to
keep the trade.12
The Qianlong emperor initially did not object to reopening trade at Ningbo. His
main concern was that the ships had forty-eight sailors without the Manchu-male
style hair queue, which the Han Chinese wore to symbolize their submission to the
dynasty. Qianlong was quickly reassured that they were Europeans from Macao. With
the help of this welcoming policy, the EIC successfully traded at Ningbo that year and
again the following year when they returned.13
Officials and merchants of Canton were alarmed by this development. The gov-
ernor-general of Guangdong and Guangxi, Yang Yingju (1696–1766), informed the
court that the number of European ships arriving in Canton in 1755 was twenty-two,
a reduction from twenty-seven in 1754 and twenty-six in 1753. He argued that

the reduction was the reason there was a shortage of 29,000 taels of port revenue
sent to Beijing that year.14 Yang did not mention in the memorial that the previous
four years, between 1749 and 1752, the figures were twenty-one, eighteen, twenty-
five, and twenty-two, respectively.15 When taking the longer view, the ship numbers,
in reality, had not significantly dropped. Yang was the key figure in the Canton lobby
who sought to ensure Canton’s monopoly of the European trade, and he allegedly
spent 20,000 taels on lobbying. In return, he probably received several times this sum
from the Canton Chinese merchants.16
It seems that, before Yang’s memorial had arrived at the court in the summer of
1756, the Canton lobby had already obtained from the court some ambiguous prohi-
bition of European trade in Ningbo.17 Also, at this point, Governor Zhou of Zhejiang
was dismissed and punished. His punishment was to serve on a postal station in the
north-west frontier. The exact reason for his dismissal is unclear, but the Canton
lobby appeared to have played a part behind the scenes.18
The commander in chief (tidu) of Zhejiang, Wu Jinsheng, whose responsibilities
included the maritime defence of Dinghai and Ningbo, echoed the governor-general
and the governor in favour of trade in Ningbo in his 1755 memorial to the court.19 But
in his 11 July 1756 memorial, Wu was seen to be against European trade in Ningbo.
Stressing the importance of maritime defence, Wu argued that the Qing did not need
another Macao, where Portuguese encroachment had started with trading activities:
the perception being that the permanent European population living in China was
the result of uncontrolled trade.20 Wu’s change of opinion was rather abrupt; possibly,
he received a bribe from the Canton lobby.
Wu’s opinion of Macao was quoted by the Grand Council’s grand secretary Fuhuan
(1720–1770), who was the key person in the court supporting the Canton lobby. In a
court letter dated 4 August to Governor-General Ke’erjishan and the new governor
of Zhejiang, Yang Tingzhang (1689–1772), Fuhuan urged caution in dealing with the
British coming to their jurisdiction to trade.21 To further intimidate the Ningbo inter-
est, Fuhuan obtained an order from the emperor to arrest the Cantonese comprador
Liang Guofu for his alleged crime of enticing ( gouyin) the British to Ningbo. Fuhuan
specifically requested that Liang be transported to Beijing for trial instead of being
dealt with locally in Ningbo.22
In another court letter dated 2 November, Fuhuan, on behalf of the emperor,
ordered the respective governors-general of the two regions, Ke’erjishan and Yang
Yingju, to discuss increasing the goods duty at Ningbo. This was to implement a
seemingly clever scheme of using duty increase at Ningbo to drive the Europeans
back to Canton. The logic behind the tax increase hinged on the fact that a good
portion of export goods, like silk and tea, were produced in the Jiangnan region.
Ningbo was closer to Jiangnan than was Canton, so the transport costs and transport
duty were lower for goods arriving at Ningbo and, thus, cheaper for Europeans to buy.
This was presented to the emperor as Ningbo’s unfair advantage over Canton, and the
increase of goods duty addressed the injustice.
The implementation of this policy made things worse for Ningbo than what the
order from the court allowed. The list of goods earmarked for duty increases involved
not only 184 items for export but also 529 for import which were not granted the
rights of increase; the majority of them were to be charged at a duty of 150 per cent
more than that of Canton.23 The emperor probably did not know these details but
knew only he had brought fairness to his empire.
The duty increase, however, did not deter the British in the slightest; they arrived
in Ningbo the following year on 13 July 1757. The EIC supercargo James Flint
(fl. 1720–1770), speaking Chinese, told the officials of Ningbo that the British would
pay the duty rather than go to Canton. The profit margin made it still worthwhile. The
Qianlong emperor, upon reading this, wrote with vermilion ink on the memorial: ‘Tell
Yang Yingju to deal with.’24 This meant that Yang, who was the major link between
the local level and the court for the Canton lobby, was to be named governor-general
of Fujian and Zhejiang—sending the wolf to the sheep. Yang arrived in Ningbo on
25 November and six days later submitted to the court a memorial suggesting that on
top of the port duty, Ningbo was to increase the port tax (a lump sum tax on a ship)
making it equal to that of Canton, thus further increasing the total cost of calling
at Ningbo.25
Yang continued to play the emperor’s game of fairness. He wrote to Qianlong that
allowing European trade at Ningbo would damage the livelihoods of the Cantonese,
who had a long tradition of maritime trade with Europeans. He then pointed out that
for coastal defence, Canton’s geography of intricate waterways surrounded by steep
hills was superior to Ningbo’s, which openly faced the sea. In reply, the Qianlong
emperor commented that he agreed with the livelihood argument: the Cantonese
deserved justice.26 The emperor did not respond directly to the maritime defence
concern of this memorial. He was, nevertheless, by now most amenable and ready to
issue an outright prohibition of trade at Ningbo.
The final verdict came on 20 December 1757, when court letters were sent to
Canton and Ningbo ordering that Europeans (xiyangren, ‘west ocean’; note: not yi)
were allowed to trade only in Canton. The reasons stated on the edict were protection
of the Cantonese livelihoods and Canton’s superior maritime defence.27 Even though
only two British ships went to Ningbo in 1755 and again in 1756, the Canton lobby
knew that to protect their trade monopoly they had to kill Ningbo’s European trade
before it took root.
The one-port policy of December 1757 was announced in February 1758 to the
European merchants in Canton, including James Flint. Dutch merchants were told to
make this new policy known to the Dutch East India Company and other European
merchants in Batavia, and the same order was given to the Chinese merchants trading
with that port.28
The British did not call at Ningbo in the 1758 season.29 But in June 1759 James Flint
again called at Ningbo. The port was well prepared for his arrival and immediately
sent him off. While leaving, Flint handed a letter to the water-forces officer. It accused
Canton’s customs commissioner, Li Yongbiao, of corruption and listed other griev-
ances the British merchants suffered in Canton.30 Flint then sailed north to Tianjin,
seventy miles from Beijing, to present the same petition, hoping it would reach the
emperor since this port was closer to Beijing and free of the Canton vested interests.31
Flint had submitted a similar petition to the Ningbo authorities when the British
first re-entered Ningbo in 1755.32 When asked by the court about this, then-governor-
general Yang of Guangdong and Guangxi dismissed the grievances, saying they
were invented by the British for the sake of lower prices at Ningbo.33 In 1759’s case,
Ningbo officials, who were now part of the Canton lobby, submitted a memorial with
the petition attached, saying the allegations were fabricated. However, the emperor
was not convinced by the lobby this time and ordered an immediate investigation.
Consequently, Commissioner Li was dismissed, along with staff from his office, other
minor officials, and port functionaries. In total, more than one hundred people in
Canton were punished for corruption: some were sent into exile, and some suffered
severe physical punishment.34
After punishing the corrupt officials and port functionaries, the court wanted to
make an example of Flint for disobeying the edict of 1757. They turned their atten-
tion to Flint’s Chinese petition. Flint claimed that it was written on board a ship by
a Fujian merchant, Lin Huai of Batavia.35 Canton Chinese merchants pointed out
the writers were Anhui tea merchant, Wang Shengyi and his son, but the Wangs had
absconded.36 In the end, the authorities arrested Liu Yabian, an associate of Flint’s
in Canton. Liu’s punishment was to be beaten to death for treason.37 Flint was then
convicted and put under house arrest in Macao for three years for conspiring with
the treacherous Liu.38 The Flint incident became a showcase for the Qing court to
demonstrate to Chinese and foreign merchants and officials that European trade was
to be confined to Canton only, as ordered in 1757.
Astonishingly, the grievances Flint presented in 1755 and then again in 1759 were
the same issues the British private merchants would complain about in the 1830s.
These included the high port tax and the various charges paid from the moment
a ship was received by the water pilots to the point it re-entered the high sea. The
charges encompassed payments to guards along the Pearl River waterway leading up
to Canton’s seaport, Whampoa, payments to water police, payments to the linguists
who acted as interpreters and helped other port matters, and payments to the staff
of the custom offices. When travelling between Canton and Macao, the merchants
were required to pay various fees along the way. And there were duties levied on
personal items, alcohol, and food they brought to China. The port functionaries of
Canton received meagre salaries and relied on payments collected directly from the
Europeans.
The most serious problem to the British was the Hong merchants’ debt. Already,
in the 1755 petition, Flint complained that Hong merchant Li Guanghua owed the
EIC 60,000 taels. By 1759, Li’s debt was reduced to 50,000, but both he and his oldest
son were dead by then (the exact circumstances are unknown). Li’s second son was
in Fujian, and the third son, who was about 16 years old, said he knew nothing about
the business because he was busy studying for the Civil Service Examination. Flint
complained that Li’s debt was due to extortion by the officials: the Hong merchants
were expected to present various gifts and donations, and were asked to make contri-
butions for events, like the emperor’s birthday, or projects linked to natural disasters,
like repairing the Yellow River dykes. The Hongs were therefore often short of cash
and easily bankrupt.39
The similarity of these complaints in the 1750s to the ones presented in the 1830s
hints at the establishment of a ‘Canton system’ of trade long before the one-port
system was politically sanctioned in 1757, and this was the very reason that the
EIC re-entered Ningbo port.40 The 1757 edict reaffirmed Canton’s exclusive right of
European trade. The punishment of Commissioner Li and other port functionaries in
1759 did not address the underlying issues of the Canton trade but, on the contrary,
added another layer of imperial sanction to the now politically established Canton
monopoly.
After 1759, the vested interests held on more firmly than ever to the Canton port.
The high officials, Chinese merchants, and port functionaries all derived income
from the Canton European trade. The court, too, enjoyed a portion of the tax revenue,
half of which went into the imperial household’s treasury. The exact distribution of
the profits from the trade is yet to be properly studied, but it is clear that even with the
Chinese vested interests in place, the Canton trade was still profitable enough for
the Europeans to come back for the following eight decades. It seems the growth of
the tea trade sustained the Canton port; as the private merchants in the 1830s rightly
pointed out, the EIC put up with the restrictions of Canton—that the EIC themselves
had complained about since 1755—for the sake of the tea trade.41
The Qianlong emperor was passionate for the Legalist school’s way of ruling—
a Chinese political philosophy that put emphasis on employing ruling techniques to
achieve the concentration of power on the emperor. The seemingly astute policies of
using taxation to control behaviour presented by the Canton lobby were designed to
please the emperor, and the lobby was duly rewarded with the imperial-sanctioned
monopoly. Legalism taught the emperor to nip an ‘evil’ in the bud, and he had a
suspicious mind, setting out to find the ‘evil’ person who had brought the Europeans
to Ningbo and to find the Chinese who had written the petition for Flint. The arrest
and trial of Liang by Fuhuan in 1757 and the punishment of Flint and Liu satisfied
Qianlong’s legalist outlook. But Qianlong did not fully trust the Canton lobby—
as legalism would tell him not to trust anyone—and that is why he ordered inves-
tigation of the grievances presented by Flint. The investigation might enhance his
imperial authority but was far from satisfying the British who believed their China
trade was in disarray and the problem was on the Qing government side.
In the meantime, the discourse about maritime frontier defence to which
Governor-General Yang and others drew the emperor’s attention was precisely what
the Qing dynasty, being a land empire, feared. The combination of an emperor admir-
ing legalism and the resourceful Canton lobby created a course of policy making that
locked the Canton trade to the discourse of coastal frontier defence.
Before 1757, Europeans had been viewed with suspicion, but after 1757, along
with suspicion, fear of their potential role in domestic unrest was built into the
institutions of the Qing bureaucracy. The Canton port became the mechanism for
balancing coastal frontier defence and the livelihoods of Cantonese, while European
merchants were to be dealt with in the Canton port only—all sealed by imperial sanc-
tion. Behind these were the profit-making motives of the Canton Chinese merchants
and the Qing high and local officials. A Qing’s profit and state security order was
enshrined in the port Canton.
Canton system and Chinese knowledge of Europeans
For the sake of monopolizing the trade—that is, for profits—the Canton lobby
whipped up the fear of foreigners conspiring with domestic rebels to overthrow the
empire. They could achieve this because the domestic political circumstances of Qing
China and the perceived threat of the European presence in Asia created a general
attitude of the Qing towards Westerners in the mid-eighteenth century that saw them
more as foes than as friends. This determined the circumstances in which the British
returning to Ningbo in 1755–1759.
But things were relatively better before the 1720s. During the Kangxi emperor’s
reign (1654–1722) and earlier in the seventeenth century, Jesuits could live and
preach in the empire. With the help of natives, they published in Chinese new knowl-
edge from the West on subjects such as world geography, mathematics, and astron-
omy.42 The Kangxi emperor himself was greatly interested and had Jesuit missionaries
brought to the court to teach him. A mathematics desk, a whole set of learning tools,
and geometry models were made to assist his studies of Western knowledge.43 Kangxi
commented in a routine memorial in 1718 reporting the arrival of Western merchants
in Macao that ‘if the Westerners have any kind of knowledge or know medicines, they
must be immediately directed to the capital’.44 This was a continuation of the relatively
welcoming policy of the later Ming, when the Italian Jesuit Matteo Ricci (1552–1610)
mingled with the literati, although not without controversy.45
In the first few decades after the ports reopened in 1683, every European ship
coming to Canton would receive presents from the emperor, including ‘two cows,
eight sacks of wheat flour, and eight crocks of Chinese wine’.46 The Hong merchants
also extended friendship when the first Cohong (Gonghang, ‘association of mer-
chants’) was set up in 1720. The third rule of the Cohong was ‘Foreign and Chinese
must be on an equal footing’.47 In these early days, Western merchants were received
by the Qing political establishment with a degree of hospitality.
Lurking beneath the opening of the ports and hosting of missionaries, however, was
a concern about Western encroachment upon South and South East Asia. Growing
British control of India, Nepal, and Burma in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries was only the newest in an escalating series of conquests witnessed by the
Qing. As early as 1603, the Spanish massacre of Chinese in the Philippines was known
to the Ming court, who expressed their concern to the Spanish authorities there.48 The
Qing court received repeated reports about conflicts between their subjects and the
Europeans in South East Asia. In 1741, for instance, acting governor-general Qingfu
(in office 1741–1743), reported to Qianlong a massacre in which nearly ten thou-
sand Chinese in Batavia had been killed by the Dutch the year before. Even though
the Qing court did not act on their behalf and conversely blamed those massacred
for having left China, the news would not have created a favourable perception of
Europeans.49
The Chinese ‘Rites Controversy’ also played a role in the development of Qing
China’s perception of Europeans. The controversy was a bitter dispute within the
Catholic Church in the early eighteenth century, in which the pope deemed Chinese
folk religion to be incompatible with Christianity. He forbade Chinese Christians to
practise ancestor worship, a ruling that had the potential to jeopardize the Confucian
ideological system upon which the Qing’s legitimacy relied. Because of this, in the
last years of his reign, Kangxi became suspicious of the motives of the missionaries
in his court. Under his son, the Yongzheng emperor (r. 1722–1735), Christianity and
missionaries were banned.50 Thereafter, throughout the eighteenth century, wave after
wave of persecutions of missionaries and their Chinese converts occurred. The situ-
ation was especially severe for Chinese converts in the 1750s.51 When the Manchu
noble clan Sunu were discovered to be Christian converts, the Qing court was greatly
apprehensive.52 Westerners were seen as a threat to dynastic security. Under these
circumstances, it would be difficult for European merchants to gain favour from the
Qing court.
The years 1755–1759 were especially bad for the British to call at Ningbo. Cao Wen
made an argument that the Qing’s campaign against the Mongolian Zunghar Khanate
in the north-west was well under way in these years. The lower Yangzi region, which
included the Ningbo area, was the major tax base that financed the campaign, so the
stability of the region to ensure a steady flow of funds to Beijing and from there to the
north-west frontier was crucial.53 It was poor timing on the part of the EIC to arrive at
Ningbo in these years. This was one key issue that Qianlong would have had in mind
in December 1757 that would favour the Canton lobby.
In dealing with Europeans, the 1757 ban and the Flint incident in 1759 set a prece-
dent—a hugely important ingredient in the decision making of the Qing bureaucracy.
From the mid-eighteenth century, a clear tradition was established in which Western
merchants were dealt with only in the ports of Canton and Macao. In addition to
the ban on Christianity, the tight regulations of the Canton system functioned to
cut off the Europeans from domestic informational networks and, thus, contain a
potential threat.
The development of the Canton system, during the later Qianlong and Jiaqing
(r. 1796–1820) periods, occurred during a time of rampant rebellion. Rapid popula-
tion growth and a recessionary economy were not in the dynasty’s favour, and in
troubled times the lurking question of the Manchu’s alien status in China would
surface. The rebellions reached their peak all over the empire in the early nineteenth
century.54 The Qing’s institutionalized understanding of the Europeans in 1757—as a
threat to coastal defence—now compelled the bureaucrats to view Europeans seri-
ously as potential allies of domestic rebels, even though at this time there was no sign
of this actually happening.
This explains why the Canton system placed such tight restrictions on contact
between Qing subjects and Westerners. It was not simply that their policies were
directed by Confucianism to view foreigners as barbarians unworthy of contact,
as has been argued by scholars.55 On the contrary, the designation of Europeans as
yi (barbarians, strangers) was a result of this changing domestic climate and the per-
ception of European merchants that had developed since 1757. Earlier, during the
Kangxi and Yongzheng periods, the neutral term xiyang (western ocean) had been
more commonly used than yi to name things and people Western.56
From the second half of the eighteenth century until the eve of the First Opium
War, the policy of containing the Europeans developed into a set of sophisticated
regulations for ever-tighter control. The introduction and three major revisions of
regulations at the port all followed incidents with the British that prompted the Qing
court and its representative in Canton to tighten their grip. After Flint, Liu Yabian,
Commissioner Li, and others were punished in 1759, Governor-General Li Shiyao
(in office 1758–1761) introduced the first official regulations in Canton: The Rules for
Guarding against Foreigners (fangfan waiyi guitiao). The five rules laid the founda-
tion of the institutionalized Canton system, comprising stipulations that foreigners
(1) could come to Canton only during the trading season, (2) could live only in the
Thirteen Factories while in Canton, (3) could not lend money to Chinese or hire
Chinese servants, (4) could not hire Chinese to deliver letters, and (5) must have
Chinese military personnel stationed near their ships in harbour. The first four rules
were to be enforced by Hong merchants and linguists, and if anything went wrong,
they were the first to be punished.57 Parts of the rules were already in place before 1757,
and they came from the experience of governing the port and from an understanding
of what could go wrong based on decades’ experience of contact. The prohibition on
lending money was a response to Flint’s petition on Li Guanghua’s debt to the EIC.
The first revision came in 1809 after the British had occupied Macao the year
before, during the Napoleonic Wars, allegedly in order to be one step ahead of a
possible French occupation.58 A new rule was added to prevent warships coming to
Canton as had happened in 1808.59
In 1831, the Rules for Guarding against Foreigners (fangfan yiren zhangcheng)
were introduced after Mrs Baynes openly came to Canton, and guns and cannons were
brought to the Thirteen Factories during the standoff. Three new prohibitions were
added officially forbidding (1) foreign females from coming to Canton, (2) all for-
eigners from using sedan chairs (a symbol of status that was used by Mrs Baynes), and
(3) taking guns and cannons into the Thirteen Factories.60 The reason for the regula-
tions forbidding Western women in Canton and for asking merchants to leave in
the off season was to prevent them from settling down. The authorities did not want
Canton to become another Macao, as was clearly spelled out in 1756 by Commander
Wu of Ningbo.
The third revision happened after the Napier Affair of 1834. Governor-General
Lu Kun repeated the major points of previous regulations and took into account that
the EIC had, by then, been dissolved. The new regulations allowed private merchants
to choose their own security merchants instead of rotating the duty, as in the days
of the company.61 This was to recognize that the private merchants being the major
traders of the port by now were individual merchants and that the old rotation system
that was designed for the EIC could no longer work.
The Canton system developed as the dynasty responded to domestic and foreign
circumstances and to new situations in Canton. There was little sign of Confucianism.
Weng Eang Cheong argued that in the making of foreign policy during this period
Chinese ways of viewing foreigners—in contrast to Manchu ways—came to domi-
nate. Europeans were again regarded as tribute bearers unlike the laissez-faire atti-
tude of the early Qing, which departed from the Ming’s tributary system. Cheong saw
the developments of the Canton one-port trade as part of this ‘return to orthodoxy’.62
There is a flaw in Cheong’s attempt to link the Canton system to the tributary
system of trade, which subjected the opening of frontier trade to tributes paid in
the court. No records indicate that the Canton system was subject to the tributary
system. Not a single European country was required to pay tribute in the court before
coming to trade in Canton. Only when Europeans pursued privileges by using the
established tributary channels of interaction in trying to establish formal interstate
relations were they required to perform Chinese tributary rituals. The best-known
example is the 1793 Macartney embassy, which came to Beijing on behalf of the East
India Company to ask for extensive rights to trade. Its members were then subject
to tributary ceremonies and required to perform rituals such as the kowtow. The
Macartney embassy and the Amherst embassy of 1816—the second British attempt
to establish relations—were received by the Qing bureaucrats as tributaries, but the
Qing did not require them in return for allowing trade to continue in Canton. Apart
from this, the British never once paid tribute to the Qing court. Yet the trade carried
on, even after the two embassies ended on bad terms.
It was not Confucianism nor the tributary system but rather dynastic state security
that was the overriding driver of policy on the maritime frontier of Canton after it
was institutionalized in 1757. The success of the Canton lobby unwittingly brought
the Qing court to assert itself firmly in the Canton trade, establishing centralized
control of the port for its own security—a price the Canton lobby paid for evoking
the imperial authority. The state security policies developed into the soft borders of
the Canton system drawing on Confucianism to shore up ideological control. That
in turn developed into a system of Chinese knowledge of Europeans and how to
deal with them. The Canton system drew on Confucianism for its justification of
monopoly and state security, not the other way around.
A mutual responsibility system
The Canton system was first and foremost part of the Qing’s domestic bureaucracy. The
local bureaucratic structure at Canton included the governor-general of Guangdong
and Guangxi (Liangguang zongdu), the governor of Guangdong (Guangdong xunfu),
the commissioner of customs (Yue Haiguan jiandu—called Hoppo by the British
merchants)—the military general of Guangdong (Guangdong jiangjun), and other
minor civil and military officials, such as the magistrates of the areas Guangzhoufu,
Nanhai, Panyu, and Xiangshan.63 Led by the governor-general, the Canton authori-
ties controlled the foreigners and the foreign trade on behalf of the court. Except
for the commissioner of customs, the governing of foreigners was only part of their
routine work; their main duty was to rule the Guangdong and Guangxi Provinces
for the Qing dynasty.64 The top Canton authorities would report to the emperor and
his court both as a matter of routine and, especially, when incidents occurred, when
new regulations needed to be introduced, and on other matters which they deemed
important and which might threaten their careers.
From the late eighteenth century, the Canton authorities became less directly
involved with foreigners. The Hong merchants (hangshang), who were licensed,
gradually assumed a full mediating role.65 These merchants, numbering five at their
least numerous and twenty-five at their most, formed themselves into a guild-like
association, the Cohong, with a head merchant (zongshang), and dealt with European
merchants. They were responsible to the Canton authorities.66 The most powerful
Hong merchant, usually the richest, would assume the role of zongshang. In the early
nineteenth century, Poankeequa served the Qing in that capacity; in the 1820s and
1830s, Howqua took the role.67
When European merchants’ ships came to Canton, they needed the Hong mer-
chants to secure their entry. In this capacity, the merchants were also known as ‘secu-
rity merchants’ (baoshang). This practice started as early as the 1720s.68 The name
baoshang, emphasizing their security role, was more often used in official commu-
nications when foreigners were in trouble and the Hong merchants were required to
take responsibility.69 Paul van Dyke, among other scholars, has noted the importance
of the Hong merchants acting as providers of security in guaranteeing the proper
behaviour of the European merchants, in addition to their commercial activity.70
However, after 1757, and especially in the nineteenth century, the priorities of the
Canton system were gradually reversed: the system became primarily a security
system for the Qing dynasty and secondarily, a commercial system for trade with
Europeans. The Hong merchants themselves came into the business for trade, but to
the Qing authorities they were part of the security apparatus.
Linguists (tongshi), who were also licensed and communicated mainly through
Pidgin, helped to pay port duties, obtained the ‘Grand Chop’ (port clearance certifi-
cates) when leaving, and dealt with other port matters.71 Another group of Chinese,
the compradors, were licensed to supply provisions to the merchants and their
clerks living in the Thirteen Factories as well as to sailors on the ships anchored in
Whampoa. And they together with domestic servants could carry out front-line
surveillance of the Thirteen Factories when this service was demanded by the Qing.
When Europeans were unruly, the Qing authorities would drive the compradors and
domestic servants out of the factories, if they had not already abandoned their posi-
tions, to deprive the foreigners of food and service.72
The Hong merchants were responsible for collecting port tax (a responsibility they
shared with the linguists) and for overseeing the linguists, compradors, domestic
servants of the Thirteen Factories, and other port functionaries. The Hong merchants
were the key people in the Qing’s control of Canton, and they bore the brunt of bureau-
cratic power when things went wrong. When Qing officials needed to communicate
with foreigners, they turned to the Hong merchants; when foreign merchants had
problems, they too came first to the Hong merchants. They were especially sought
after if foreigners, whether clerks or sailors, were involved in quarrels or suspicious
deaths and other crimes. The British private merchants in the 1830s articulated the
effects in their newspaper: ‘If a foreigner takes a walk and is being insulted by natives
[and] a fray occurs, the security-merchant is forthwith punished or fined, for not
keeping the said foreigners under control.’73
Some of the Hong merchants had official titles, but these were obtained through
purchasing degrees, not because of their service as mediators. They were not offi-
cially part of the Qing bureaucracy, and their services to the Canton authorities were
rewarded with a monopoly (or, at least, a priority) on trade, especially on the major
commodity, tea.74
The time during which the Hong merchants became the major mediator between
the two sides coincided with the East India Company changing its trading practices.
Before 1775 the EIC trade in China followed the supercargo system, in which each
ship’s supercargo (a trade agent) took charge of his own trade. A council was ordered
by the Court of Directors in London to be officially formed in 1775, and by 1786
the council was replaced by a Select Committee.75 This was because the tea trade,
by now, had become an important source of income for the EIC. The volume of trade
in Canton was developed to the extent that credit played a bigger role in financing the
tea trade.76 Management in China was required, and a continuous business relation-
ship developed that was more akin to a modern business company than the previous
one-off transactions each season. The Hong merchants assumed an ever more impor-
tant role partly as the counterpart of the managers of the EIC.
The firm grasp on the Canton port by the bureaucracy also ensured the steady flow
of customs revenue from Canton directly to the court.77 This responsibility was borne
by the commissioner of customs in particular and other top mandarins in general.78
In these ways, the Canton system displayed the hallmarks of the Qing domestic
neighbourhood administrative system, the ‘mutual responsibility system’ (baojia),
in the joint management of both social stability and taxation. The character bao
(meaning ‘to guarantee, to ensure, to protect’) features in both baojia and baoshang
(security merchants).
The baojia system originated from twelfth-century local militia, although the
concept may be much older. During the Qing, every one hundred households were
organized as one jia under a chief, and every ten jia were grouped into one bao under
a headman. Within these units, members were supposedly ‘held responsible for the
lawful behaviour of all members’ including paying tax.79
Locking together the baojia and the Canton system were the Chinese who partici-
pated in the trade as linguists, compradors, and functionaries; these needed co-insur-
ance ( ganjie) either by the headman of their baojia or the head of their clan—clans
had significant overlap with the baojia system. For instance, in the records of 1744 and
1809, the pilots ( yinshui), who helped the ships to navigate through the treacherous
Canton estuary, were asked to obtain a warrant granted by the head of their baojia.80
Interestingly, the baojia was rigorously reinforced in the year 1757 when Canton
was designated as the only port for Europeans, after the Qianlong emperor commented
on a rebellion case in which ten rebels were still at large after a decade of pursuit.
He said that the rebels were not caught because the baojia was not working properly.81
Whether the baojia ever functioned as tightly as it was supposed to throughout the
Qing period remains to be clarified.82 It is quite possible, however, that the Canton
system was the most successfully implemented baojia system in the entire Qing
Empire, because for more than eight decades it was effective in maintaining order,
containing Westerners within the port of Canton and bringing regular tariff revenue
to the court.83
As counterparts on the foreign side, the consuls of each nation were regarded as
the heads in charge of their countrymen. In the 1830s, there were consuls from the
United States, Prussia, France, Denmark, and the Netherlands, plus the chief super-
intendent of the EIC—or, after 1834, the superintendent of trade. The consuls were
actually merchants representing their own nation or others’ nations in ambiguous
capacity.84 They were in any case regarded by the Qing as merely merchants. Foreigners
knew how the system worked and complained about it: ‘In cases of difficulty, the
Chinese government usually look to the consuls as the “headmen” of the respective
nations to which they belong; but it does not recognize in them any authority or rank
that can give them equality with even the lowest officers of the celestial empire.’85
In other words, the consuls had responsibility for their fellow countrymen but no
rights. In fact, they were regarded like headmen in the baojia system in that they were
expected to show moral leadership by winning respect from their countrymen in
Canton and exercising control over them.
Thus, the way the system worked was that the Canton authorities were the first
circle of the mutual responsibility system for the imperial court. They controlled the
second circle, the Hong merchants, who in turn were in charge of the port function-
aries and the heads of the foreign merchants. The foreign headmen comprised the last
circle and were delegated the task of restraining their merchants, clerks, and sailors.
Through the mutual responsibility system that linked all functionaries of the port and
foreigners to the Hong merchants, the Qing controlled the Canton port.
Foreign headmen
In addition to being aware of the encroachment of Europeans in Asia, Qing officials

had a grasp of European politics enough to devise a policy for dealing with Europeans.
In a memorial of 1755, the governor-general of the Guangdong and Guangxi reported
to the emperor that France and England were two big countries of the outer ocean
who constantly engaged in battle.86 In 1809, the English were seen as aggressive and
the French as their only equal.87 By 1830, the British were identified by Canton offi-
cials in memorials to the court as ‘arrogant in their mightiness and wealth’ (zishi
fuqiang).88 Information was not detailed and systematic, but it reflected the contours
of the situation, and the British were recognized as an important people.
The Canton authorities could see that the British had the largest trade volumes
and numbers of clerks in the port. Thus, the EIC’s chief superintendent was regarded
by the Canton authorities as headman for all foreigners. They had to control him in
order to control the Canton trade and foreign community. Because of this recogni-
tion some of the company chiefs had direct access to the Canton authorities. When
Thomas George Staunton (1781–1859) held the position, he was able to negotiate
with the Qing authorities in fluent Mandarin Chinese in the absence of the Hong
merchants and linguists. Staunton had been on intimate terms with a Mongolian
Qing high official called Song Yun 松筠 (1752–1835), a friendship first established
when he came as a 12-year-old child with his father in the 1793 Macartney embassy,
but their connection was later broken by the court’s intervention.89
As early as 1830, when the Hong merchants realized the possibility of the EIC’s
China trade monopoly coming to an end, they petitioned the governor-general to
issue an edict to urge the EIC chief superintendent to write letters to his king asking
for a new headman to be sent to Canton. The Hong merchants spelled out clearly in
their letter to the governor-general the importance of the headman:
At present, the last division of the said nation’s Company’s ships is about to leave
the port and return home. We, prostrate, beg that you will condescend to confer
an edict, enjoining the said nation’s Chief, Marjoribanks, early to send a letter
home, to communicate it to the said nation’s King; that if hereafter, the said
nation’s Company be dissolved, will there, as heretofore, be appointed a chief to
come to Canton, to have the general management of the affairs of the said nation’s
foreign merchants and ships, which come to Canton. If no such Chief comes to
Canton, there will be no concentrated responsibility; and since, if the said nation’s
country ships and merchants come to Canton to trade, the ships being many,
and the men not few, in the event of any silly foolish, ignorant opposition to, and
violation of the commands of Government after all, who will be responsible? The
Celestial Empire’s laws and regulations are awfully strict, and will not admit of
the least infraction. The said nation must be ordered to make previous and safe
arrangements; then hereafter, public affairs will have a head to revert to, and
responsibility will not fall upon bystanders. Thus, it may be hoped, the commerce
of the foreign merchants may go on tranquilly, and when the time comes to act,
excuses be prevented.90
This communication shows clearly the principles of the baojia underlying the Canton
system. The Hong merchants knew that in order for the system to function they
needed ‘concentrated responsibility’ and ‘a head to refer to’.
While waiting for the new superintendent of trade, Lord Napier, to arrive, the gov-
ernor-general Lu Kun, through the Hong merchants, asked the former chief super-
intendent John Francis Davis (1795–1890) about the situation. Davis ended the last
letter of the EIC to the Qing authorities by taking the opportunity to present the same
grievances that Flint had petitioned and to ask for rights for his fellow countrymen.91
When Lord Napier arrived, he demanded to be recognized as a representative of
the British Crown, which, in 1834, challenged the well-established Canton system.
The authorities refused this sudden change. Twelve days after his death, the Hong
merchants sent a letter to the British merchants with an order from Lu Kun saying,
‘You should send a letter to your country, calling for the appointment of a trading
taipan, acquainted with affairs, to come to Canton to have the general direction. It is
unnecessary to appoint a Barbarian Eye to come to Canton.’92 They wanted trade to
continue smoothly with a taipan (chief superintendent of the Select Committee) like
the EIC had placed in charge of the British merchants, their clerks, and sailors—
in effect, the foreign community. They did not need a ‘barbarian eye’ ( yimu, a foreign
headman) with political connections who did not fit into the established system.
After the Napier Affair, uncertainty towards the position of the British headman
lasted for more than two years. In seeing this, then-governor-general Deng Tingzhen
(in office 1835–1840) reported to the court, arguing that the chief superintendent
of trade, Captain Charles Elliot, was a very quiet and peaceable man. He assured
the Daoguang emperor that although his office was not similar to that of the former
trading chief, they differed only in name, not in reality. And in all cases the foreign-
ers could be controlled by a foreigner, to which office and duty he was to be strictly
confined and not be allowed to intermeddle in other matters.93 The governor-general
wanted to bypass Elliot’s status as a representative of the British Crown and to regard
him simply as the headman of the merchants. The key thing for the governor-general
and for the court was that the foreigners could be controlled by a foreigner. The court
agreed, and Elliot came to Canton to assume his role, to the delight of the Register,
which said that the ‘British Flag is again flying in Canton; may the Foreign Trade find
its protection under its shadow’.94
After coming to Canton, Elliot functioned and was treated as a headman.
On 20 August 1837, two lascars (South Asian sailors) were involved in a quarrel with
a Chinese. Together with two other lascars, who were also on the scene, they were
arrested. After a preliminary hearing with Elliot in the gongsuo (the common office of
the Hong merchants) in the presence of the Hong merchants, the lascars were handed
over to Elliot and locked in a godown in the English Factory.95 It is notable that
the hearing was not held in the magistrate’s office, where Chinese criminal cases were
heard, and that the lascars were remanded to Elliot. Elliot, in this case, had some
rights as a headman. Yet these rights were not extraterritorial jurisdiction, which was
how Europeans at this time would have understood the case. Instead, Elliot acted
as the headman in the Canton system. To the Qing authorities and to the system,
a foreign headman governing his community was the best way to maintain order and
tranquillity. The mature Canton system kept the trade and kept foreigners within the
system; the soft borders kept out undesirable political connections.
Outwitted on the maritime frontier
One other way to bring the foreigners on the maritime frontier under control was to
stop trade. It worked nearly every time, partly because by the late eighteenth century
the Qing court took security as their priority and were less afraid of losing trade than
the foreign and local merchants were.
The most dramatic instance of stopping trade was during the Napier Affair, when
the foreign community at first stood behind Napier but quickly turned against him
when trade was stopped. Gravely ill, Napier left Canton for Macao because of the
pressure on the foreign merchants from the Canton authorities, who were deter-
mined to assert their authority by stopping trade, and because of pressure from the
foreigners themselves for trade to be resumed, so that they could purchase and ship
goods before the monsoon winds turned northwards.96
The wedge driven between Napier and his compatriots worked for the Canton
authorities in forcing him to leave. There was more to come. One of the oldest decep-
tions, kurouji (having oneself tortured to win the confidence of the enemy), was inter-
twined with the baojia system to form the soft borders of Canton. In 1838, when the
authorities wished the hospital ship for seamen at Whampoa to depart in order to
prevent contact between Westerners and the ordinary Chinese who would go there to
seek medical help, they sent a ‘security merchant and linguist to say they dread torture
and banishment if the Hospital-ship is not removed!’97 The security merchants and
linguists were responsible for foreigners and hence were punishable when things did
not proceed in rightful order. Given the close relationship and a certain sympathy
and interest among foreign merchants, security merchants, and linguists, the strategy
was to elicit a sense of guilt rather than challenge directly so that the foreigners would
move the ship willingly. The ship was duly removed.
The records show many examples of security merchants, linguists, and compra-
dors being punished first rather than foreigners. Such punishable incidents included
foreign women appearing in Canton, foreigners presenting a petition at the city gate,
and foreigners not going to Macao or not leaving China in the off season.98 Perhaps
the most astonishing instance of the kurouji strategy occurred during the campaign
to drive out the opium trade. Before Commissioner Lin Zexu arrived in Canton to
implement the ban on opium imports, the Canton authorities came to the square
in front of the Thirteen Factories and set up a beheading stage in December 1838.
A Chinese opium smuggler was brought on and—watched by all eyes, foreign and
Chinese—was beheaded.99 If one thinks in terms of Chinese collective identity, this
action of beheading demonstrated hurting oneself in order to manipulate the enemy

into intended action. The mandarins knew how to put on a show to establish the kind
of order they wanted.
Being aware to a great extent of the Qing authorities’ strategies, the British in
Canton were not passively fooled. They also played the game of stopping trade to
force the Canton authorities into negotiation, but it worked for them only occasion-
ally.100 A more systematic strategy was setting up the Chamber of Commerce as the
counterpart of the Hong merchants. Napier was subject to the Canton system, which
meant that all his communications had to go through the Hong merchants before
reaching the Canton officials. Napier did not like this, nor did the Warlike party, who
had invested much hope in him to change the terms of interaction. Napier, in August
1834, ordered the formation of a Chamber of Commerce, which would act as the
intermediary between him and the Hong merchants.101 In this way, Napier would not
be treated as a taipan, and the equality between nations and the honour of the British
flag, as they perceived it, would function for the British in China. The Chamber of
Commerce did not work as they wished, however, because the Pacific party was dis-
pleased by the way the Chamber was controlled by the Warlike party and allied with
the Parsees to boycott it.102
The idea of a counterpart to the Hong merchants was fulfilled when the General
Chamber of Commerce came into being more than a year after Napier’s death. The
rivalry between the two groups of British merchants was not going to end here,
as they continued fighting up to the eve of war and, after that, to the establishment of
the Hongkong Bank in the 1860s in Hong Kong. But, somehow, they both joined the
General Chamber of Commerce. This time all foreigners, including Americans and
other Europeans, were brought under one organization. Clear rules and regulations
for conducting trade and interaction with the Chinese were set up.103 The General
Chamber of Commerce would end, together with the Canton system, when the First
Opium War began in 1839.
The Hong merchants, on the other side, soon adapted to the new mode of contact.
It could not have been more convenient for them, for the foreigners had now organ-
ized themselves into one entity.104 The Canton Press recorded an exchange between
the two sides during the anti-opium campaign of 1837:
The three senior Hong merchants called on the committee of the [General]
Chamber of Commerce on Saturday last, expressing their regret at the practice of
Opium smuggling at Whampoa and Canton, and beseeching the Committee to
use their influence to put a stop to it, since not only the whole foreign trade, but
also themselves personally, might, if this smuggling were discovered, be great suf-
ferers. The answer of the committee was that they could not interfere in matters
which belonged exclusively to the Chinese Government; if the latter wishes to
enforce its laws it must take its own measures. The Chamber did not feel itself
authorized to interfere.105
The Hong merchants thought the General Chamber of Commerce had responsibility
over all foreign matters in the same way that the Canton system empowered and
regulated Hong merchants, but the chamber did not function in this way and had
chosen not to intervene. In this exchange, the Hong merchants again used their own
possible punishment as an argument to persuade the foreigners to cooperate, but it
did not work. The foreign merchants, under the lead of the British private merchants,
had become increasingly assertive about their position in China and would no longer
be outwitted by the Canton system. Hong merchants had played their part in the
system, acting as a soft control on the foreigners in exchange for profits, but from now
on it would be the British who outwitted the Qing. The Canton system could cope
neither with the opium smuggling problem nor the growing ambitions of the British,
nor indeed with other Western forces: technology, the modern military, institutions,
and social formations that had been developing over the preceding three centuries
and that were now to be unleashed on the Qing Empire.
Understanding the frontier
The British merchants in Canton were fully aware of how the Qing perceived them.
As early as 1754, the understanding was this: ‘It is written in the Chinese books, that
Europeans are a warlike boisterous people, who always seek to invade the eastern coun-
tries, where they come to trade.’ This sentence had been written down and kept in the
office of the English Factory for the EIC’s staff to consult. In 1835, it was published
by the private merchants in the Canton English newspapers.106 The merchants also
knew that the Chinese were aware of the EIC’s taking possession of India—an action
which put the Qing especially on guard towards the British—and that the Indian and
Burmese wars of 1835 had heightened their suspicions.107 The British government in
London was equally aware of the Qing’s concerns. The Whig president of the Board
of Control, Charles Grant, said in 1833 that the Chinese ‘had heard of the Company’s
victories in many parts of India, and to a people so sensitive as they were as to the
approach of any foreign power to their territory, such matters were great cause of
jealousy’.108
Before Napier’s departure for China, he was told by Prime Minister Lord Grey
(1764–1845), ‘You are aware of the jealous and suspicious character of the Chinese
people and government. Nothing must be done to shock their prejudices and excite
their fears.’109 The British government did not want Napier to disrupt the mode of
trade in Canton as it was, even though the EIC monopoly has ended. The British
private merchants in China in the 1830s had more precise knowledge of how the
Qing perceived foreign trade: ‘If the Chinese open all their ports to British enterprise,
it is generally said the whole fabric of ancient institutions will be overturned; a rebel-
lion will be the immediate consequence.’110
Knowing this, the British wanted to reassure the Qing that they were by no means
interested in acquiring Chinese territory. The Macartney embassy of 1793 and that
of Macartney’s predecessor, Charles Cathcart, were specially instructed to commu-
nicate to the Chinese that ‘our view is purely commercial, having not even a wish for
Territory’.111 The merchants and missionaries at Canton in the 1830s, too, tried more
than once to explain to the Chinese—in Chinese—that there was nothing to be feared
from the British and that the British now were by no means interested in conquest.
Commerce was what British wanted. The famous voyage of the Lord Amherst
along the eastern coast of China in 1832 was ordered by the EIC’s superintendent
at the time, Charles Marjoribanks, in order to locate further opportunities for
trade; this venture was carried out by the supercargo Hugh Hamilton Lindsay and
the Protestant Prussian missionary Karl Gützlaff, to the great satisfaction of the
Canton foreign community. Both Lindsay and Marjoribanks had a forward attitude,
though Lindsay belonged to the Warlike party. Marjoribanks wrote a pamphlet, Brief
Account of the English Character, which was translated into Chinese by Robert
Morrison. Five hundred copies of the translated pamphlet, entitled Dayingguo renshi
lüeshuo, were distributed together with missionary tracts on the voyage.112 In the
pamphlet, Marjoribanks assured the Chinese, ‘The government of so great an Empire
has no thirst for conquest. Its great object and aim is to preserve its subjects in a
condition of happiness and tranquillity.’113 During the voyage, the British discovered
that the desire of the coastal Chinese peoples to trade in the maritime world was as
strong as the wishes of the British to expand their trade into China. This confirmed
to the Warlike party that the Han Chinese were being repressed by the Manchus and
that they would join the British to rebel once war started.114
As the ship went up the coast noting opportunities and distributing tracts,
the Chinese version of Marjoribanks’s pamphlet was received by the governor of
Shandong, Na’erjing’e, and then presented to the Grand Council, whence it reached
the Daoguang emperor.115 The emperor’s comment was that, in his opinion, the print-
ing style was obviously and definitely that of inland China. How could the Europeans
have had access to Chinese printing? And how incompetent his officials were, who
commented that the pamphlet was merely ‘likely’ to have been printed in inland
China.116 The emperor understood that the tight security system for containing the
foreigners had been broken; the Chinese printing was the evidence. It did not appear
that the emperor or the court was interested at all in what the Canton British wanted
to communicate. After all, the Canton system, by now, had taught the Qing to think
about Europeans only in terms of the Canton system and the potential threat to
state security.
That foreigners had access to a Chinese printing facility inside Canton city meant
that suspicion fell also upon Qing subjects. There were traitors (hanjian) helping the
British! The designation of traitor established another soft border by distinguishing
those who helped foreigners from other Qing subjects. The Canton system dictated
that the Qing perceive any unauthorized contact with foreigners only as treachery.
The British were eager to enter China and were able to pay sufficiently well to pur-
chase the services of Qing subjects, despite the risk of punishment.
In November 1828, the staff of the EIC in Canton filed a petition to the governor
saying that a letter belonging to British merchants and carried by a Chinese from
Macao to Canton had been confiscated by the river police of Panyu. The governor
replied, ‘Fearing that he was a traitorous Chinese, conspiring to create disturbance,
he was detained for trial.’117 Controlling the delivery of letters was a way of controlling
information and preventing Qing subjects from establishing contact with foreigners,
pre-empting the possibility of them joining forces. This was one of the five rules set
out at the beginning of the Canton system. The letter was returned for it proved to be
harmless. New rules were introduced that stipulated only compradors were allowed
to carry letters for foreigners; foreigners were not allowed to engage outside men to
carry them, ‘lest they create disturbance’.118 The changes mitigated the 1759 rule that
forbade any Chinese from carrying letters for foreigners and may temporarily have
mollified the British. But it did not in the slightest dampen their enthusiasm to com-
pletely overhaul the terms on which they traded with the Chinese. On the surface,
on the institutional level, and in the regulations, the Canton system still appeared to
work well, reinforcing old regulations and introducing new ones. But, in practice, the
system could not contain the merchants any longer.
Other informational control measures forbade foreigners to bring books out of
China, learn Chinese, and circulate their publications among the Chinese. The weight
of control was on the Chinese side, for any Chinese found selling books to foreign-
ers, teaching Chinese, or engaging in similar actions would be designated a hanjian
and punished, in cases beheaded.119 The reality was that these regulations created a
lucrative business for daring adventurers. The number of foreigners learning Chinese
in the 1830s was increasing. At least five people—Robert Morrison, Karl Gützlaff,
John Robert Morrison, Elijah Coleman Bridgman, and Robert Thom—could speak
and write Chinese. Books, pamphlets, and Christian tracts in Chinese were distributed
on several occasions, as they were during the 1832 voyage. When Robert Morrison
returned to London on furlough in 1823, he carried with him nearly ten thousand
Chinese books.120 The Bavarian orientalist Karl Friedrich Neumann (1793–1870),
who came to Canton to learn Chinese in 1829, sent back about twelve thousand
Chinese books.121
By the early 1830s, the Qing had been outwitted by their own tricks. Ironically, the
creation of the Canton system, with a well-established soft border that cut across the
informational and interactional networks in the port, led the Qing to view the for-
eigners only from the perspective of containing them in Canton. Neither the physi-
cal borders of the Thirteen Factories nor the soft borders ever stopped information
flowing out of China, but the Canton system did play a major part in shaping the
Qing’s understanding of European merchants.
The soft borders equally shaped the British merchants’ understanding of China.
The Warlike party saw the Canton system, and the Chinese law and order it repre-
sented, as an insult to the British national honour. For instance, the word tizhi in the
Qing official edicts, letters, and memorials was translated by the Register as ‘dignity’
or ‘respectability’, which were the derived connotations, while the first and direct
meaning of the word—‘the established law and order of the dynasty’—was ignored.
A note from the emperor, which approved the new regulations of 1831, was translated
and published in the Register with the sentence ‘bushi tianchao tizhi fangwei zhishan’
rendered as ‘It is all together incumbent not to lose the Celestial Empire’s respectabil-
ity in governing.’ The Canton community debated over whether tizhi should be trans-
lated as ‘respectability’ or ‘dignity’.122 Either translation had the potential of arousing
the patriotic feelings that dovetailed with their sentiment of ‘national honour’: The
Celestial Empire, in demonstrating its ‘respectability’ or ‘dignity’, looked down upon
the British, thus insulting the British. Insult merited war. The merchants, who rep-
resented China from the perspective of their confined space of Canton, controlled
British (and to an extent international) perception of the Qing’s intent. Ignoring the
other half of the meaning—‘the established law and order’—enabled the Warlike
party to create a narrative that conflated the Canton system, British national honour,
and war.
While the Warlike party saw the system as an obstacle to their trade, to the Qing,
the Canton system was an institutionalized method of dealing with the European
merchants. Because of the Canton system—and not Confucianism, which should be
seen as an ideological justification of what the Qing did in shutting out Europeans—
the Qing had no idea at all of the arguments, warlike or pacific, underway on their
doorstep and the potential power of the British merchants within their jurisdiction.
Institutional complacence and entrenched interests compelled the Qing to see the
British only from the perspective of the Canton system.
The way in which the British maritime public sphere and the Qing state’s sphere
interfaced had tremendous impact as tensions built throughout the 1830s. On the
one hand, the bureaucratic management of the Canton system was the subject of
scrutiny by the British public sphere—as if the Register were a British local newspaper
criticizing British local government—yet the Chinese authorities had no obligations
towards the foreigners. On the other hand, the English newspaper was a place that
Chinese informational networks did not reach, and, as a consequence, they had not
the slightest grasp of the shape of the public sphere and the potential power it wielded.
Yet the Canton system had supreme authority over the foreigners. The consequence of
the interaction turned out to be war. In view of the restriction of the Canton system,
the Warlike were less to blame, for they had attempted to reach out to the Qing.
4
Intellectual Artillery
When the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China (SDUKC) was
founded in Canton on 29 November 1834, its committee declared:
We are now, then, to make the trial, whether the celestial empire, after it has
defeated all efforts to bring it into an alliance with the civilized nations of the
earth, will not yield to intellectual artillery, and give to knowledge the palm of
victory.1
Thus formally began an information war with ‘intellectual artillery’ at its disposal,
aimed to win the hearts and minds of the Chinese in the years before the actual
military action of the First Opium War. The foreigners in Canton believed they were
barred from further access to China partly because the Chinese had no informa-
tion on the true character of the Europeans. The ‘intellectual artillery’ in the form of
Chinese-language publications, especially on world geography, was to be used on the
Chinese, in the hope that this effort would familiarize them with the science and art
of Westerners and thereby cultivate respect and a welcoming atmosphere.
In establishing the soft borders in Canton, the Qing erected an information barrier
to prevent foreigners from knowing China and Chinese from interacting with them.
In this context, the strategy of deploying intellectual artillery to start an information
war was well founded.
The founding members of the society consisted of not just British private mer-
chants but also Protestant missionaries, who played a major role in the establishment
and management of the society. The missionaries believed that trade, like the gospel,
would benefit the Chinese and bring China into the ranks of ‘civilized nations’—
as they understood it—meaning the Christian world.2
The war metaphor permeated the founding and running of the society. In addition
to the wording ‘intellectual artillery’, the committee pronounced unambiguously that
in establishing the society they were ‘glad to engage in a warfare’ that involved chang-
ing Chinese perceptions of the outside world.3 This war metaphor contributed to the
discourse that led to the waging of the military war. The society aimed to ‘open China
up’ to Europeans, as did the war that was eventually waged. Being an overture to the
literal war, the SDUKC was part of that development, rather than an alternative.4
Despite their martial language, in establishing the SDUKC, the merchants and
missionaries meant well and believed the new knowledge being passed on to the
Chinese would benefit them as much as it had the Europeans, particularly at this
juncture the British, as Britain was seen as the most powerful nation in the world.
They believed the society was a charitable organization spreading civilization and
helping China.
Establishment of the society
When the Warlike party advertised for a ‘Prize Essay’ in 1831 in the Register, solicit-
ing Chinese books to introduce free trade doctrines into China, their advertisement
included this sentence: ‘The prize is given by a gentleman who wishes to patronise the
diffusion of useful knowledge in the Chinese language.’5 This was the earliest record
of the concept ‘diffusion of useful knowledge’ appearing in Canton. Following that,
the Canton Miscellany, in the same year, in its first issue, argued:
That the Nations included in the above specified limits, have not yet attained
that degree of intellectual and moral culture, which may justly entitle them to
the designation of civilized, is, we presume apparent to every one. The Hundreds
of Millions of human beings, who inhabit the Ultra-ganges Countries, view all
claims of other Nations to equality and reciprocity with contempt, and refuse all
intellectual intercourse.
The Evil being apparent, the next thing is to find a remedy. Individual effort
is unequal to the Task. Why should not local Societies be formed in India, the
Straits and China, for the diffusion of useful knowledge in the Native language,
and the promotion of civilization in all the regions from Borneo to Corea and
from Arracan to Japan.6
The underlying assumption being that India was under British control and in the
process of being ‘civilized’, while the area east of it, the ‘Ultra-ganges Countries’, was
to follow. The author believed that ‘the Merchants seem the best men to commence
the work’.7
The next year, 1832, the Register published an article entitled ‘Progress Society’,
which commented that, in China, ‘knowledge and civilization have rather decreased
than increased for many centuries; and unless a European intercourse of literature
take place, they are likely to be stationary or retrograde for many centuries to come’.8
The article called for the foreign community in Canton ‘to set up a Chinese Press,
from which Newspapers, Reviews &c., should be issued’.9
Up until this point, diffusing ‘useful knowledge’ was mainly a vaguely understood
and self-appointed civilizing mission; establishing the society and printing press was
Intellectual Artillery 63
necessary to fulfil it. The most focused point thus far was imparting free trade doc-
trines to the Chinese through the ‘Prize Essay’.
The call for the ‘diffusion of useful knowledge’ took a new turn in May 1833 when
another call for a ‘Chinese Press’ in the Register clearly spelled out the connection
between knowledge diffusion and the image of foreigners that the Chinese suppos-
edly possessed. It stated that the publications in Chinese were to be ‘calculated to
remove the absurd prejudices of this people, and give them a juster idea of foreigners,
their sciences, arts, and discoveries’.10 Now the spread of the ‘useful knowledge’ was
designed to remove Chinese ‘prejudices’ about foreigners.
Two weeks later, in answering this call, the Prussian missionary Karl Gützlaff
advertised his prospectus of a monthly periodical in the Chinese language in the
Register, appealing for patronage. Gützlaff presented his idea for a magazine as a
counter to the ‘high and exclusive notions’ of the Chinese by making them ‘acquainted
with our sciences and principles’.11 He argued that the ‘empty conceit’ that stemmed
from the lack of information concerning the West on the Chinese side ‘has greatly
affected the interests of the foreign residents at Canton’.12 Gützlaff explicitly made the
point that the restrictions placed on Westerners were due to inadequate knowledge
on the Chinese side. This connection was meaningful to the Canton foreign com-
munity because the Canton system, with its tight regulations, had long been a source
of grievances.
William Jardine seems to have answered Gützlaff ’s appeal and underwrote the
first six months of the magazine in exchange for Gützlaff ’s interpreting work and
his medical service on board the opium-selling voyage of the clipper Sylph along
the eastern coast of China, according to Michael Greenberg’s research.13 The Canton
Register stated that the magazine was ‘supported by a public foreign subscription’.14
In any case, Gützlaff had the funding and in the following two years published the
Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan (Eastern Western monthly magazine) with the
aim of making the Chinese understand Westerners better. The Chinese Repository
reported how the Chinese received the magazine:
The second number of this publication has made its appearance, and the
Chinese seem to have obtained a better insight into its nature. They did not at
first clearly understand what was meant by a monthly periodical. We have heard
many express their qualified approbation of the work. Those few who have
done otherwise are for the most part such as are either self-sufficient in their
own knowledge, or proud of their own ignorance. We may venture to say that
no natives of good sense and unprejudiced minds are against it. How far it will
be supported by the Chinese themselves, remains to be seen. The nature of the
work is, so far as we know, entirely new to the Chinese around us; a periodical for
the diffusion of useful knowledge was, probably, never before published in ‘the
celestial empire’.15
Gützlaff ’s Monthly Magazine was indeed the first Chinese periodical in the Western
style published in mainland China. The Chinese Courier distrusted the project and
reported the doubt of a Chinese scholar on the accuracy of the knowledge printed in
the magazine. It then argued that the project actually did a disservice to the foreign
community:
The more we see of the reception of the attempts made by foreigners to conciliate
the Chinese or improve their moral conditions, the stronger grows our convic-
tion that we not only labour in vain, but lower ourselves in their estimation by the
pertinacity of the endeavour. The prejudices of education here appear to be even
more firmly rooted than those of religion among the natives of India.16
But opinion such as this did not dissuade the publication and dissemination of the
magazine. The efforts momentarily paid off. When the magazine reached its sixth
number, the Register vividly described its popularity. Some issues ‘have been read
with eagerness’ and ‘portions of their contents have been copied and hawked about
the streets for sale’.17 The Register then said:
Parties of Chinese have been observed clubbed together reading and explaining
them; and studying the map of the northern constellations. If by means of this
and other similar publications we once get a hold of the Chinese mind, we trust
we may succeed eventually in task of leading the Chinese government to endeav-
our to suit its practice more to its theory. The springs of celestial compassion may
then overflow to, and fatten foreigners in reality; and we may all rejoice in their
invigorating nourishment. We sincerely hope that the indefatigable author of this
publication may succeed in his benevolent designs;—and that he may also shortly
induce the Chinese to buy his works: that will be the surest test of his victory over
the aris focisque of the Celestial Empire.18
The report of the Monthly Magazine’s qualified success stirred up the community’s
interest in the idea of diffusing useful knowledge to the Chinese. The conception of
employing ‘intellectual artillery’ came into focus, and it took on the form of a society
when a pamphlet of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (SDUK) that
was founded in London in 1826 reached Canton in the winter of 1833.19
Facing increasing criticism from other publishers in Great Britain for publishing
much cheaper books and magazines aimed at lower-class people, the SDUK decided
at their fifth annual meeting that they should counteract these criticisms by launching
a media campaign to disseminate pamphlets defending the position of the society.
One such pamphlet was sent to Canton.20 The Repository’s editor, the American
missionary Elijah Coleman Bridgman (1801–1861) not only obliged by publishing
the note and an abstract of the pamphlet but also, on seeing the success of the low-
price practice of the SDUK, decided that the Repository would reduce its price by
one-half from the third volume onwards ‘anticipating of course that the number of
copies circulated will be more than double’.21 At its peak, the SDUK’s Penny Magazine
(1832–1843) alone sold about 200,000 copies every week in 1832. This was just in
time for Bridgman to be excited by the figure, although in actuality with its low-price
practice the SDUK needed five times this figure to break even.22
The SDUKC’s inspiration, the SDUK in London, was part of a wider social reform
movement that had developed in the first three decades of the nineteenth century.
The major force behind the SDUK was Lord Henry Brougham (1778–1868), who had
just helped push through the Reform Act of 1832, two years before the founding of
the SDUKC. A mild reformer, Brougham viewed the SDUK partly as a provider of
educational opportunity to the lower classes and partly as a means to divert radical
revolutionary forces that were gathering strength among them.23 In addition to the
affiliation of the SDUKC with the SDUK, a connection between Britain’s liberal
reformers and the British merchants of Canton also existed through the Edinburgh
Review (1802–1929), of which Brougham was one of the founders and from which
the major Canton newspapers often reprinted progressive ideas.
In sending out pamphlets explaining its position, the committee of the SDUK did
not know that these notes and pamphlets posted to Canton would do more than just
change the price practice of the Repository. It would also, more importantly, play into
the affairs unfolding at the margins of the Qing Empire and inspire the forming of a
similar society which named itself after the SDUK. They shared the civilizing mission
in working for the lower-class of Britain and for the ‘semi-civilized Chinese’ respec-
tively. In Canton, the reformist idea of ‘diffusion of useful knowledge’ was intertwined
with the merchants’ and missionaries’ wishes to open China up.
Three appeals for the formation of a similar society were advertised after the
SDUK’s notes were published. The third appeal urged ‘the civilised community living
in the suburbs of Canton the establishment of an institution for the promotion of
useful knowledge among the Chinese’ and then argued:
It is thought that by the circulation among the Chinese of such books, the study
of which will raise them in the scale of human beings, inform their minds, and
convey to them juster notions of the people of other countries, will result in the
most beneficial effects on their present confined and antisocial rules of thinking
and acting. Books on all subjects, except politics, will be distributed; and little
doubt is entertained that the study of useful subjects will not interest the minds
of the Chinese or that the sale will eventually defray the cost of printing and
publication.
In a short time a prospectus will be laid before the public, under the con-
viction that the enlightened members of the American and British nations will
readily follow the example of their countrymen at home, and by proper means,
promote this grand object.24
The promise of a ‘prospectus’ ‘in a short time’ did not come so soon. The plan of an
‘institution’ was brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of Napier in July 1834 as
the first trade superintendent to China. Further delay was ensured in the following
months during the standoff in Canton with Napier’s demand to be treated like a
British state representative, his being taken ill, his untimely death, and the anger of
the Warlike party over his ill treatment by the Chinese and the frustration of their
hopes that he would change their situation.
It was not until late November that the whole Napier Affair was brought to an end.
Now, with exasperation and discontent, and an even greater sense of community, the
society began operations in earnest in late November 1834.25
Planning intellectual artillery
When the committee of the SDUKC in their meetings declared that the prepara-
tion of ‘intellectual artillery’ was intended ‘to engage in a warfare’, it was less than
two months after Lord Napier’s untimely death. The anguish and dismay among the
British community was palpable, especially among the group of merchants associated
with the Warlike party surrounding Jardine, Matheson & Co. The rhetoric in Canton
was moving towards war as a solution to their confinement, and the funding of the
SDUKC was one way they expressed this frustration.
In the five years following the foundation of the society, the merchants and mis-
sionaries regularly held meetings in Canton to discuss the plans for the society when
the trading season started in early autumn. The regulations of the society stipulated
that the annual meeting was held on the third Monday in October. The date of the
meeting was rarely followed, but every year they managed to get together.26 The plans
for the operation of the society were discussed in the meeting and then published
annually in the Repository and less often in the Register and the Press, and were there-
fore available to the Canton foreign community, as well as to subscribers of the news-
papers and journals in other Asian ports and some in Britain and America.
The meetings were a process through which committee members learned both
about the Chinese and about their own interests. The first annual report, published in
December 1835, showed that the society had only gotten as far as deciding to publish
material on universal geography and world history. They believed these subjects
would teach the Chinese that the world was more than the Middle Kingdom and that
foreigners were not barbarians.27
In the second annual report, the committee formulated a detailed plan cover-
ing eight subject areas which the committee deemed necessary to introduce to the
Chinese. These were ranked by the society in order of priority: history (including
biography), geography (including travel), natural history, medicine, mechanics and
mechanical arts, natural philosophy, natural theology, and belles-lettres. There was
also another category for ‘miscellaneous subjects’, which included magazines and
other publications.28
By the time of the third annual meeting, the committee considered it necessary
to examine what was already available in Chinese before they could continue the
work of the society. John Robert Morrison in the capacity of English secretary to
the society presented his investigation of Chinese knowledge by going through the
‘catalogue of works contained in the imperial library at Peking’, or the Siku Quanshu
(Complete Library of Four Branches of Books, 36,304 volumes, 1782). Morrison com-
pared the Complete Library with the knowledge developed in the West and claimed
that the classic branch ( jing), the first branch of the four, was a ‘philosophy, which,
leaving alone all speculations concerning the origin and future state of man, confines
itself almost wholly to the relations between man and man in this life’. The Bible was
the reference point here.
The history and geography branch (shi), Morrison said, is ‘almost exclusively
national . . . while the existence of other nations, and the practical lessons to be learned
from the rest of mankind, are almost wholly forgotten’. Morrison was also dissatisfied
with the ‘useful arts of life’, which were a part of the branch known as the collections
( ji); he reported that only agriculture and weaving were available for study, while
astronomical and mathematical sciences were ‘chiefly derived from Europeans’, refer-
ring to the Catholic missionaries working in the court. Thus, he concluded, ‘Seeing
that so many are the defects of Chinese literature, it becomes our imperative duty to
exert our utmost energies to supply their lack of knowledge.’29
By assuming that the Complete Library represented the knowledge of the Chinese
in its entirety, the report falls into the discourse of the Confucianist outlook that
set out to compile this giant collection in the Qianlong emperor’s time (1736–1795).
Take the jing, for example: Confucian learning may be the only learning listed in this
category, but the Daoist classics and the lengthy, translated, well-developed Buddhist
canon, which were rather under-represented in the Complete Library under the
Confucian worldview, were put into the category of zi (masters’ works), which would
have been compatible with what Morrison named the knowledge concerning the
‘origin and future state of man’—religion. It would be more justifiable, for instance,
for Morrison to have compared Christianity to these writings, since Christianity and
Confucianism are rather more compatible in the aspects of their relationships with
political authorities and their ideological roles to those powers.
The knowledge in the shi department that most concerned the meeting may not
have correlated with the knowledge of history and geography of the West—or as the
society called it, ‘our own knowledge’—but it was sufficient to prove that there was
abundant geohistorical information about Westerners, compiled mainly by Jesuits in
the seventeenth century, and Chinese-language travel accounts of foreign lands in
South East and Central Asia.30 Had the committee not from the beginning set out to
identify the deficiencies within Chinese knowledge, they would have noticed that the
existent information was rich enough for any Chinese reader to learn of the existence
and states of the ‘outside world’, including the West.31 This might have suggested to
the society, to the European community in Canton, and to readers of the Canton print
media in the port cities of Asia, Europe, and America that the explanation for the
restrictions placed upon foreigners might lie somewhere else, namely in the Qing’s
state security concerns.
Nevertheless, they believed, or they had to believe, that the deficiency of knowl-
edge of the outside world was the reason trade was confined to Canton, Christianity
was banned in China, and the foreigners’ every move was watched daily. Thus, pre-
senting knowledge to the Chinese received its justification.
In its fourth year, the committee took great interest in the Chinese book market
in order to understand what the Chinese were reading and what books were most
popular. The plan was to write books in the form of these popular works with the
content replaced with that written by the members of the society.
The first type was the numerous forms of ‘Chinese almanacs’, or the Yellow
Calendar (huangli or tongshu). Earlier, in the second annual report, the society had
noticed the popularity of this type of book and proposed that the society should
publish its own almanacs ‘intended to replace with useful information, scientific
and statistical, the present Chinese Almanacs, which are almost wholly filled with idle
prognostications, details regarding propitious and unpropitious days, and so forth’.32
At the fourth annual meeting, the plan of supplying and replacing was earnestly taken
up; the Chinese almanacs were thoroughly studied. John Robert Morrison noticed
that the bookstalls, during the time of the year when the meeting was held, ‘begin to
be crowded’ with these books. He reported that the Chinese almanacs varied greatly
according to the publishers, but usually they contained a calendar marked with auspi-
cious days and other miscellaneous information that would be useful in the daily life
of the Chinese. When they saw that some almanacs contained maps of China, the
plan became even clearer. John Morrison commented:
These items are however so few [almanacs containing maps], that they are hardly
worthy of notice, except as an example of what may be introduced in a purified
almanac, intended like ‘the British Almanac’ of the English Society whose name
we bear, to supply, gradually, the place of the year-books already existing among
the people.33
Another equally popular and no less attractive type of book that the society wanted to
publish was the Collectanes of Elementary and Useful Information.34 This type of book
contained materials for elementary education, such as picture dictionaries, and for
practical information, such as instructions for writing visiting cards.
Morrison told the committee that improved works of these two types were ‘likely
to meet with a more ready circulation than the works which your committee has
already published or sent to press, and hence may well serve to introduce these last
to the attention of readers’.35 They wanted to put Western geographic and historical
knowledge into the Yellow Calendar and ‘Collectanes’ that were consulted by ordi-
nary Chinese in everyday life. In this way, information on the West could reach every
Chinese.36
These ideas, except the geohistorical books and a few others, were never put into
practice by the society. When the fourth annual report was presented in the meeting,
the opium confiscation in Canton that would lead to a three-year war was less than
four months away. Some of the plans, however, would have their influence in the late
period of missionary publications in China. Publication of the almanacs, for instance,
was carried out by the missionary Divie Bethune McCartee (1820–1900) in Shanghai
under the title Pingan Tongshu, with four issues appearing between 1850 and 1853
that contained numerous western maps and geohistorical articles.37
The longer the society members prepared their ‘intellectual artillery’, the more
they learned about the Chinese, and the more they understood the complexity of
the matter of diffusing knowledge. In the ‘Proceedings’ and its first annual report, the
society described China as a country closed to rest of the world due ‘chiefly to the
apathy, the national pride, and the ignorance of the Chinese, that they have not joined
other nations in the march of intellect’. The second year’s report expressed, though
reluctantly, the possibility that ‘we’ might learn something from the Chinese:
We have enumerated advantages arising out of such knowledge as we may impart

to the Chinese. On the other hand, we might also, it is not impossible, were we
brought into constant intercourse with intelligent and well-informed natives of
this country, derive much practical information, and hence receive considerable
direct benefit even from them.38
The hesitation was necessary to maintain the society’s stance at a civilizing high
ground that empowered the society, and it shows that the society already sensed that
their labour might be entirely in vain. This explains why in its fourth year the society
examined the knowledge available in Chinese by going through the catalogue of the
Complete Library. It is not that before the founding of this society they knew nothing
about China but rather largely that the anguish over the Napier Affair was fading as
the meetings rolled on year after year, and partly that the works of the society made
them look into the Chinese in more detail.
The society, however, could not afford to have a high opinion of the Chinese, for
its very existence was, to a great extent, built upon a negative representation of China.
The situation is akin to the Protestant missions’ opinions concerning China, whereby
‘to say something positive about the Chinese would serve to undermine the rationale
of the missionary enterprise’.39
Preparation for writing, translating, and printing
While analysing the knowledge of the Chinese and devising a publication strategy, the
society was also drawing up plans for writing, printing, and distribution. Although
British merchants had been trading in China since the early seventeenth century,
in the 1830s, thanks partly to the Qing’s restrictions, there were only a handful of
people who could speak Mandarin or Cantonese. Daily business was conducted in
Pidgin. When the society was founded in 1834, there were four people who were able,
with the help of Chinese assistants, to write materials in Chinese for publication—
John Robert Morrison, Bridgman, Gützlaff, and Robert Thom.
With so few able hands, the results of preparing ‘intellectual artillery’ were not
at all satisfying to the committee. They knew very well that simply being able to
write was not enough to attract attention in a Chinese society, where literary style
was highly regarded. This problem surfaced in the committee’s third annual report.
John Robert Morrison commented on a manuscript they had received, saying that
the style of the writing was ‘necessarily tainted with foreign idioms and adapted to
foreign modes of thought and expression’.40
From the very beginning, the society attended to the problem of translation. A set
of ‘Chinese nomenclature’ for translating the proper nouns relating to geography,
history, and science was proposed in the first annual report. They were aware of
the necessity to have unified terms to translate things and names that were hitherto
strange to the Chinese reader. The proper nouns of nations, such as Great Britain
(Dayingguo), America (Meilige heshengguo), France (Falanxi), and Holland (Helan)
for the geographical books, and historical figure names such as George Washington
(Huashengdun) and Napoleon (Napuolieng) in the history books were standardized
to promote better communication. Neologisms such as huozhengchuan (fire steam
boat) and huozhengche (fire steam car) were coined to name in Chinese for the
Chinese these latest inventions of the West. They wished to make their translitera-
tions as close as possible to the pronunciation of the court (or Mandarin) dialect for
wider circulation, instead of the Cantonese that surrounded them.
The society also needed the Chinese nomenclature to contest the negative designa-
tions of foreigners. Examples given by the American missionary Bridgman of terms
to be contested included hung-maou kwei (hongmaogui), ‘red-haired devils’, and
keang-koo kwei ( jianggugui), ‘old-story-telling devils’, meaning missionary preach-
ers of the gospel.41 They preferred that the Chinese call them by names they chose
themselves rather than regard them as ‘devils’.42
Printing was another problem the society faced. They commissioned two movable
metallic types. One was made by the Reverend Samuel Dyer (1804–1843), who was
inspired by Robert Morrison to come to Asia and specialized in making a movable
type in Penang, and the other was made in Paris by Marcellin Legrand, with the help
of Sinologist Jean-Pierre Guillaume Pauthier (1801–1873).43 By 1839, when the fourth
annual report was published, these two movable types were not yet constructed. The
society also made an application for the use of the former East India Company’s
movable type, which was constructed by Peter Perring Thoms (fl. 1814–1851) for
publishing Robert Morrison’s A Dictionary of the Chinese Language (1815–1823).44
These moveable types may not have helped the society’s publications, even if they
had been available in Canton, because a series of events that took place through-
out the second half of 1830s prompted the Qing government to reinforce its ban on
foreign printing. Lord Napier’s appeals to the Chinese public, conveyed via placards
posted in the streets surrounding the Thirteen Factories during the summer of
1834, moved the Qing authorities to issue a reinforcing edict banning all Chinese
printing houses from undertaking any work for foreigners.45 Prior to this reinforce-
ment, Gützlaff could, albeit illegally, publish in 1833 his monthly magazine inside
Canton city using Chinese printing facilities.46
The result of the reinforced control was that the society needed to find alternative
printing facilities ‘beyond the jurisdiction of the Chinese’. Two places were proposed
for this purpose by William Jardine; one was on board the ships moored at Lintin
Island where the merchants stocked their opium shipped from India and other smug-
gled goods. These vessels had their own cannons and guards, and they were beyond
the reach of the Chinese government. The other proposed location was the Straits
Settlements in Malaya, under the control of the British Empire. In the end, the soci-
ety’s publications were printed in Singapore.47
Publications and their impact
With a safe place established in Singapore for printing in the missionary school
Anglo-Chinese College, at least eight of the eighteen items proposed for publica-
tion (Chart 1, numbers 1–8) were published between 1838 and 1839, before the war
started. As they were prioritized, the treatises on history and geography were among
the earliest books published. A General History of the World, A Universal Geography,
and A History of England were written by Gützlaff, one of the society’s two Chinese
secretaries in charge of writing in Chinese, who at this time was also the interpreter
to the superintendent of British trade. The other Chinese secretary, Bridgman, turned
out one treatise on the United States and one chrestomathy for learning Cantonese.
These books, along with the society’s magazine, were published on the eve of the
First Opium War and were the major ‘intellectual artillery’ of the society’s five years
of labour.
Chart 1
Proposals and Publications by the SDUKC
Publications Items Published,
Notes
Proposed* Author, and Year
1 ‘A general history of Gujin wanguo gangjian Parts of it were published first in
the world’ 古今萬國綱鑑, Dongxiyang kao (Eastern Western
by Gützlaff, 1838 monthly magazine); 300 copies were
ordered in 1838.
2 ‘A universal Wanguo dili quanji 萬國 Parts of it were published first in
geography’ 地理全集, by Gützlaff, Dongxiyang kao.
1838
3 ‘A history of the Meilige heshengguo zhilüe Revised in 1846 and 1862; translated
United States’ 美理哥合省國志略, into Japanese in 1864.
by Bridgman, 1838
4 ‘The Chinese The Chinese This book is ‘for Europeans: the
Chrestomathy in Chrestomathy in Canton acquirement of the means of per-
Canton Dialect’ Dialect, by Bridgman, sonal intercourse with the Chinese
1838 and of diffusing among the latter a
knowledge of the English language’.
5 ‘Aesop’s Fables’ Yishi mizhuan 意拾秘傳, This item had been published in
by Robert Thom, parts before 1838. Every story is
1838–1839 presented in English, Chinese, and
romanized Chinese. It is partly for
the purpose of language learning.
6 ‘A history of the Jews’ Gushi rudiyaguo Republication of Robert Morrison’s
lidailiezhuan 古時 1815 work; in the last meeting of the
如氐亞國歷代列傳, SDUKC in 1838, it was clearly stated
by Robert Morrison, that this book had been published,
1838 but I have seen only the 1815 edition
so far.
7 ‘Chinese magazine’ Dongxiyang kao meiyue
tongjizhuan 東西洋考
每月統計傳 (Eastern
Western monthly maga-
zine), edited by Gützlaff
and possibly others,
1833–1838
8 ‘A treatise on political Maoyi tongzhi 貿易通志 This was written partly in answer
economy’ (General account on to the call for a ‘prize essay’ for
trade), by Gützlaff, 1840 translating British economic theory
(free trade).
9 ‘A map of the world’ Wanguo ditu quanji 萬國 This may have been published, but
地圖全集 I have not found the map.
* The book titles in the column ‘publications proposed’ are as given at the meetings of the
SDUKC.
Chart 1 (continued)
Publications Items Published,
Notes
Proposed Author, and Year
10 ‘A history of England’ Dayingguo tongzhi Originally published in 1834.
大英國統志, by Gützlaff In 1837, it was presented to the
society for republication, but in
1838 it was ‘accidentally retarded’.
11 ‘A short treatise on N/A Proposed in 1837.
the being of a God’
12 ‘Another notice of the N/A Proposed in 1838.
Indian Archipelago’
13 ‘A geographical and N/A Written by John Robert Morrison,
astronomical work’, but no further discussion or any sign
entitled ‘Yuen teen of publication.
too shwo’ (Huantian
tushuo 環天圖說)
14 ‘Sze Shoo ching wan’ N/A ‘By a Chinese person who was edu-
(Sishu jingwen 四書 cated by the Jesuits.’ It was supported
經文) for publication in the meeting, but
no further information of publica-
tion exists.
15 ‘A small work on Xiyou diqiu wenjian lüe Originally published in 1819; the
general geography, zhuan 西遊地球聞見略 society decided to republish, but this
in the form of a 傳, by Robert Morrison, had not been carried out by 1838
traveller’s narrative 1819 and was possibly abandoned after
of what he had seen’ the war.
16 ‘Natural Philosophy’ N/A To translate Lord Brougham’s
‘Treatise on the objects, advantages,
and pleasures of Science’. There is
no further information regarding
publication.
17 ‘Almanac’ N/A The society did not carry out
the plan to publish this. But in
1850–1853, four almanacs were
edited by Davie Bethune McCartee
in Shanghai entitled Ping’an tongshu
平安通書.
18 ‘A complete set of N/A Proposed by Dr Parker; there was no
plates exhibiting disagreement, but neither was there
the anatomy of the further discussion or publication.
human subject of Benjamin Hobson published Quanti
natural size’ xinlun 全體新論 in 1851, which was
carried out as the society proposed.
Though these publications by the society were rather late, coming after four years’
planning, some were produced at last. The problem of distributing the books to the
Chinese then arose. Chinese booksellers were not prepared to risk their businesses
by dealing with Europeans, especially after the Napier Affair.48 The only other option
was to sell or distribute the books personally via the members of the society; this was
a logical plan, as the missionaries were familiar with this type of direct contact. When
Gützlaff published the Monthly Magazine by himself, one way of distribution was to
give freely to the Chinese who came into contact with foreigners during business
transactions.49 In 1835, 1,000 sets of the two volumes of the 1833 and 1834 magazines
were reprinted by the society. These magazines were handed out alongside Christian
tracts in Fujian Province when Gützlaff and Edwin Steven undertook their tract-
distributing voyage in 1835 that alarmed the Chinese government, prompting another
check on Europeans’ use of Chinese printing in Canton.50 It was after this incident
that the publication of this magazine was moved to Singapore.
By March 1837, another 1,000 copies of the newly edited two issues of the magazine
were sent to be printed. From 1837 onwards, this magazine would be published more
or less regularly each month, until about November 1839. All these late printings of
the magazines could be distributed among the Chinese communities only in South
East Asia, such as Batavia, Singapore, Malacca, and Penang.51 Even so, the society
members hoped these books and the information contained in them would somehow
reach China. The American physician missionary the Reverend Dr Peter Parker
(1804–1888) gave a personal account of how Gützlaff ’s magazine was received in
Singapore in 1835:
I have had opportunity to see the estimation in which the magazine of

Mr. Gützlaff is held by the Chinese. While at Singapore a question of chronol-
ogy came up; the inquiry was made, ‘do you know any book that will solve
it?’ ‘Yes.’ The magazine was produced and the question answered. ‘Is this book
correct?’ All affirmed that it was. I adduce this example to show that the works of
Europeans are appreciated.52
Bridgman’s Meilige heshengguo zhilüe (A history of the United States) was com-
pleted around the end of 1837 and was published in November 1838. Not only was
the treatise circulated in South East Asia, but Bridgman also presented the books to
the prominent Chinese, including the Imperial Commissioner Lin Zexu, during the
opium confiscation crisis of 1839. Bridgman would revise this treatise twice and
republish it in 1846 in Canton and in 1862 in Shanghai.53
It was the First Opium War that gave the society’s publications an impact in
mainland China. After the Qing Empire was defeated by the British, scholars such as
Wei Yuan, Xu Jiyu (1795–1873), and Liang Tinglan (1796–1861) witnessed or became
concerned about the power of the maritime nations, and made efforts to understand
these foreigners. When these scholar officials wanted to gather materials to write
treatises on the maritime nations, the publications of the society were available to
meet this need.
Upon his arrival in Canton to implement the ban on opium in March 1839,
Commissioner Lin employed Chinese translators and interpreters and commis-
sioned the translations of C. T. Downing’s The Fan-Qui in China in 1836–7; The
Encyclopaedia of Geography (1834), by Hugh Murray; and English newspapers
published in Canton—mainly the Canton Press and Canton Register. He then asked
Peter Parker, who was one of the members of the society, to translate part of the
Elements of International Law (1836), by Henry Wheaton. Later, he would also ask
Parker to help translate a letter written to Queen Victoria.54 When Lin’s opium pro-
hibition campaign was brought to an abrupt end in 1841 by factionalism in the Qing
court, he gave these materials, which would probably have included the copy that
Bridgman had presented to him, to Wei Yuan and asked him to use them to write a
book about the maritime nations.55
Wei Yuan published Haiguo tuzhi (Illustrated treatise on maritime countries) in
fifty juan (chapters) in 1842, the same year that the First Opium War ended. Later,
in 1847, he would revise and expand it into sixty juan, and one hundred juan in 1852,
adding more materials available in Chinese. Haiguo tuzhi resembles an organized
scrapbook in that materials from different books were cut and pasted, with minor
changes, and sorted by continent and subcategorized by nation. Xiong Yuezhi’s
research shows that items related to the society occupied a large portion of the
1852 edition; this included fifty-seven entries from Gützlaff ’s Wanguo dili quanji
(Universal geography), twenty-six from the Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan
(Eastern Western monthly magazine), fourteen from Maoyi tongzhi (General account
on trade), and twenty-four from Bridgman’s Meilige heshengguo zhilue (A history of
the United States). 56 Haiguo tuzhi, in turn, was one of the most important reference
books on the subject of world geohistory in China in the second half of the nineteenth
century. The expanded edition was presented to the Qing court in 1858. The scholar-
officials of the Qing Empire referenced this source when started to learn more about
the new world and the power struggles between maritime empires. Haiguo tuzhi also
eventually made its way into Japan. In 1850 and 1853, it was banned there, but in
1854, after Japan was forced to open its ports to the Americans, it was reintroduced
and made an impact on the Japanese reform era.57
Xu Jiyu’s Yinghuan zhilüe (A brief description of the ocean circuit), published in
1848, along with Haiguo tuzhi, influenced both Qing China and Japan. Xu wrote the
book in his own words after he digested materials that he had collected in Chinese
and interviewed foreigners on the subjects of world geography and history. One of
the foreigners he consulted several times was George Tradescant Lay (1799–1845),
who was one of the most vocal members at the fourth annual meeting of the SDUKC.
Xu met Lay when he was treasurer of Fujian, while Lay was in the service of the
British consul at Fuzhou after the war. Lay’s Chinese name, Li Taiguo, was mentioned
three times in the book.58
Liang Tinglan’s Heshenguo shuo (Accounts on the United States, 1844) and Lanlun
oushuo (Accounts of London, 1845) also relied heavily upon Meilige heshengguo
zhilue (A history of the United States) and the Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan
(Eastern Western monthly magazine), respectively. At least until the 1880s, these
Chinese publications were the main sources contributing to the understanding of the
maritime nations in the new situation of the Qing Empire.59 They were the channel
through which the society’s publications had their impact upon China.
Convergence of interests and the war metaphor
The existing explanations for the founding of the society, namely those of Fred
W. Drake, argue that the foreign community intended ‘to open China by peaceful
means to trade, Western civilization, and consequently to Protestant Christianity’.60
Michael C. Lazich made this line of argument explicit by stating that ‘the undertak-
ing was seen as a favourable alternative to military engagement’.61 Both of these aims
indicate distaste for belligerence. The events that took place at Canton indicate rather
that the opposite was the case when and after the society was established. Both the
Warlike party and Protestant missionaries wanted war.
Murray A. Rubinstein went through the issues of the Chinese Repository, the major
English publication of Protestant missionaries in China at this time. He contended
that the missionaries by no means shunned the war arguments but rather that the
First Opium War was the war the missionaries wanted. He argued that the Protestant
missionaries, with the mission zeal of the early nineteenth century and through their
interpretations of the Scriptures, employed a war metaphor for their work in China.62
They brought the war metaphor into the society. The term ‘intellectual artillery’ was
coined by none other than the American missionary Bridgman who was the chief
editor of the Chinese Repository.
On the merchant side, the society was established by the same members of the
Warlike party in the heat of the aftermath of Napier’s death. The preparation of the
December 1834 war petition and the founding of the society—the information war—
were in fact undertaken in the same month—November 1834—by the same group
of people. As a result, the war discourse permeated the establishment of the society.
While James Matheson headed to London with the petition to start a campaign for
war, the society started its preparation of ‘intellectual artillery’ in Canton. The peti-
tion was signed by about ninety British merchants who included clerks of the firms
and captains in Canton, among them William Jardine, James Matheson, James Innes,
Richard Turner, Robert Thom, John Slade, and Thomas Fox; all the British members
of the society added their names to the petition.63
Thus the society’s relation to the military war should be revised: rather than
offering an alternative, its establishment was part of the war discourse of the British
merchants and American missionaries in Canton. And the society, in its own right,
constituted an informational war.
To further piece together and theorize the reasons for the society’s establishment,
it is worth examining the committee membership and their interest in the society.
In general, the society ran with John Robert Morrison and Bridgman in charge of
its day-to-day operations, while the merchants used their financial weight to sway
the direction in which the society was headed. When the society was first founded,
Gützlaff as a Protestant missionary alluded to the benefits of an open China in com-
mercial terms in the ‘Objects of the Society’:
Our intercourse with China has lately been extended and will, under the aus-
pices of a free trade, expand, until it embraces all the maritime provinces of the
empire and considers the flourishing region of the Yangtsze Keang as a fair field
for mercantile enterprise. There will be thus a wide door open for the dissemina-
tion of truth.64
Similarly, Bridgman in the first year’s report explicitly points out the commercial
opportunities presented by a vast China:
Such are the wants of man that they are never satisfied: the wants of this nation
[China] are great; its natural productions are also great: these have given rise to
an extensive commerce, which, so long as those wants continue and those pro-
ductions are needed, will not cease; and if the first increase as they doubtless
will, the latter will do so also; and commerce in the hands of enlightened and phil-
anthropic men will prepare the way for the wide diffusion of useful knowledge.65
The benefit of an open China leading to greater commercial opportunity was under-
lined by the two missionaries of the society: Gützlaff and Bridgman; it served as an
acknowledgement of the merchants’ needs by the missionaries, as well as calling for
their financial support.
Each year, the society selected one president, one treasurer, three general commit-
tee members, two Chinese secretaries, and one English secretary. For all five years, the
Chinese secretary positions were filled by Gützlaff and Bridgman, while the position
of English secretary was held by John Robert Morrison; these three together occupied
a total of fifteen among the forty-one committee positions available over five years.
These were the three people on the committee who could write articles in Chinese.
In addition to Bridgman and Gützlaff, the only missionary on the committee was
Parker, who held a position on the general committee once in the third year.
The society’s committee was dominated by opium merchants. There were at least
ten of them, occupying twenty of the forty-one committee memberships, and most
of the time they filled the posts of president and treasurer—the heads of the society.
James Matheson was president for the first year and treasurer for the fourth and
fifth years, while his business partner, William Jardine, was president for the second
and third years. Together they guaranteed that Jardine, Matheson & Co. had a person
in the society’s executive positions every single year. When an extra English secretary
position was created in the fifth year, it fell to Robert Thom, who was a clerk at Jardine,
Matheson & Co. It is safe to say that Jardine, Matheson & Co. exerted great influence
on the society. Other opium merchants, such as Robert Inglis and John Cleve Green,
also filled the president or treasurer posts, while other opium dealers, including
Richard Turner, William Wetmore, James Innes, and Russell Sturgis, all served on the
committee. Non-opium merchants included American merchants D. W. C. Olyphant
(1789–1851) and his staff member Charles W. King, who were accompanied by
former East India Company employees John Robert Morrison and Hugh Hamilton
Lindsay.66 Except the missionaries, Olyphant, and King, the society’s committee
members were mostly associated with the Warlike party.
Having opium merchants as members of the society did not necessarily mean
that it was morally corrupt. In fact, the opium merchants who were at the same time
Warlike party members were associated with other charitable organizations that had
similar objectives to those of the SDUKC. After Robert Morrison died in the summer
of 1834, the Morrison Education Society was founded in his honour in 1836. It was
run by missionaries with the financial support of this same group of merchants.67
When the idea of the Medical Missionary Society was put into practice in 1838,
the same group of people again participated.68 Both societies were founded during
the time of the SDUKC, also with the agenda of ‘opening China up’ alongside their
primary medical and educational missions. In an appeal for the establishment of
the Medical Missionary Society, the idea of medical training and care as a means to
approach ‘insular China’ was noted.
And that inquiry after medical truth may be provoked, there is good reason to
expect: for, exclusive as China is, in all her system, she cannot exclude disease, not
shut her people up from the desire of relief. . . . At any rate, this seems the only
open door; let us enter it.69
In its second annual report, the SDUKC announced its cooperation with the
Morrison Education Society, promising that some Chinese students would be trained
in both English and Chinese and that ‘these are the persons who must be mainly
instrumental in diffusing useful knowledge among the Chinese, their countrymen’.70
The missionaries who initiated these two societies knew that by upholding the flag of
‘opening up China’, they could attract financial support from the foreign merchants
in Canton. Christian values were also used to appeal to the merchants, but the agenda
of ‘opening China up’ was more attractive to them.
The ambiguous designation ‘opening China up’ allowed the two main constitu-
ents of the society, the merchants and missionaries, to read their own meanings and
interests into the proceedings. For the merchants, an open China meant one open to
free trade; for the missionaries, it meant a China open to Christianity. In addition to
opening China up from the inside, the society aimed to convince the Chinese of the
greatness of the British Empire in order to win the proper respect that was believed to
be overdue in the design of the Canton system. The war metaphor therefore expressed
the Canton foreign community’s wishes to break out of their containment by the
Qing’s Canton system—to open China up for the purposes of extensive trade and free
proselytizing.
Asserting Christianity
In the first two years of the society, no Christianity-related items were proposed for
publication. When the society’s publication plan eventually suggested that this subject
area should be introduced to the Chinese, the ‘natural theology’ of William Paley
(1743–1805) was put in seventh place on the list, above only belles-lettres in priority.
The Christian mission was questioned at the first annual general meeting in 1835
by the British merchant James Innes in response to the Qing government’s ban on
Chinese printing houses undertaking any work for foreigners following the tract-
distributing trips made by Gützlaff and Steven to Fujian Province earlier in the year.
The result of this ban was that the society needed to find alternative printing facilities
outside China. While discussing this issue James Innes, a notoriously bad-tempered
opium agent in Canton, said:
No one regrets more than I do the abeyance of the Chinese press in China. It is a
misfortune to the cause of truth! But if this meeting views it fairly, and its causes,
they will derive from it strength, not weakness. It was by many esteemed doubt-
ful—never by me, whether the thousands of tracts sent among this great people
produced an effect or not. So misinformed were we, that we remained in the
dark, until a clear lucid, definite fact was arrived at, that these tracts had moved
the whole Chinese empire, as avowed by recent edicts from the throne, which
presides over so many millions of human beings—all willing, so far as we know,
to receive truth, but hitherto barred from it by selfish motives!71
Considering that proselytization was the very reason the missionaries were willing
to risk their lives to break the law of the Qing Empire, that two of the three hands
that were able to write materials in Chinese were missionaries, and that the third
John Robert Morrison was the son of Robert Morrison, the pioneer of the Protestant
mission in China, the Christian voice in the society had been quiet thus far—to say
the least. Bridgman had commented on the prospects of publications in Chinese that
‘knowledge and science are the handmaids of religion’ two months before the foun-
dation of the society.72 To a great extent, this explains the missionaries’ dispositions
regarding the society and the diffusing of useful knowledge in China.
Three books concerning Christianity were proposed for publication in the third
year of the society, out of fifteen books that had been proposed thus far. All three were
drawn from Robert Morrison’s early writings, which included A Short Treatise on the
Being of a God, A History of the Jews, and A Voyage Round the World.73
At the fourth annual meeting, things took a new direction, and the missionaries
became more assertive. After the presentation of the annual report, long speeches
concerning Christianity were made by Bridgman, Parker, and Lay. One possible
reason for the missionaries’ new-found confidence was that Lay, a representative
of the British and Foreign Bible Society and thus a strong financial backer, had
arrived in Canton. In 1815 the Bible Society had paraded its generosity by giving
Robert Morrison £2,000 to support his translation, printing, and distribution of the
New Testament.74 It is likely that Lay tipped the balance in favour of the missionar-
ies with his ties to strong financial support. Just three months earlier, the Register
had noted that the society was ‘nearly paralyzed at present for the want of funds’.75
With highly charged self-confidence, Lay evaluated the society in the ordering of a
Christian world:
As to the rank of this society, we shall soon perceive that it lays claim to no mean
relationship and affinity. If the Bible Societies hold the first place, because they
propose to give the word of God to every human being; if missionary societies
take the second, because their object is to send men to teach all nations the way of
salvation; societies like this may fairly come into the third, because they labour to
diffuse among all classes of a community that knowledge, which is the best of all
worldly gifts—as it is the grammar and interpretation of God’s works, an analytic
and synthetic account of those very lessons which they teach.76
This spelled out how the society was linked to Christianity and justified it as mission-
ary work. It contrasted with the situation hitherto, in which the missionaries, entirely
dependent on the support of the merchants, had alluded to commercial interests in
the meetings.
Lay promised that when he was back in England, he would ‘endeavour to create
sober and enlightened views of her [the society’s] condition, and, as opportunity shall
serve, strive to awaken feeling and sympathy in favour of the praiseworthy and truly
excellent undertaking which we are now met to consider’. After this delivery, it was
motioned by Bridgman and seconded by Matheson that the society change its regula-
tion that the ‘resident members shall include native and foreign gentlemen’ instead
of ‘resident members shall include native and foreign gentlemen in China’.77 This was
to welcome Lay’s continuing membership and possibly attract others in England to
the society. The extension also meant that any further financial support was welcome.
By and large, in its first four years of existence the society was financed by mer-
chants whose profits derived mainly from the opium trade. Adding to the controversy
of the missionaries’ cooperation with the opium traders, Gützlaff joined the opium
ship of Jardine, Matheson & Co. as an interpreter. Gützlaff together with Bridgman
and John Robert Morrison all provided their linguistic services either during the war
or the signing of the treaty thereafter.78 Their cosy relations with the private mer-
chants and the British imperial state were characteristic of the Canton era: missionar-
ies could operate only under the auspices of merchants because they were banned by
the Qing, while the Qing’s policy of disengagement afforded Western nations little
choice but to employ the pioneering missionaries’ knowledge of China and Chinese.
Following the First Opium War, the fully functioning society, with the high spirits
and newly charged energy of its fifth year, disappeared amid the turbulence. After the
war, merchants and missionaries were free to live and trade in the treaty ports. The
Protestant missionaries gradually established their enterprise, first at treaty ports and
then moving inland, preaching Christianity as well as modern Western knowledge.79
The information war waged by the missionaries together with the private mer-
chants in Canton represented another form of engagement with Qing China after
Lord Macartney’s and Lord Amherst’s frustrated embassy journeys to Beijing in 1793
and 1816. The diplomatic engagement was formed with the understanding that the
Qing Empire was a great world power to be reckoned with, and it was conceived by
the EIC, which as a trader and a semi-official institution was on relatively friendly
terms with the Qing. The EIC differed from the British private merchants in that the
argument for a war was never their central agenda. The private merchants did not
have the same well-established access to the British government as did the EIC, and
thus they resorted to the activities of the society, along with public campaigning and,
later, lobbying to bring the British state to bear on China. The 1830s were the height
of British imperial expansion in the East, and the Warlike party wanted this imperial
power to come to their aid in Canton. The development of the information war antici-
pated the military engagement that began in 1839 and provided both the theoretical
framework and justification for a military war. The interests behind both wars were
the convergent aims of the merchants and missionaries of opening China up to trade
and proselytizing.
5
A War of Words over ‘Barbarian’
The character yi 夷 was used by Qing officials in their memorials, edicts, and other
official communication from the mid-eighteenth century as the main word to denote
European merchants in Canton. How to translate yi was a subject of fierce debate
among the British of Canton in the 1830s. When the word was rendered into English
as ‘barbarian’, the Warlike party believed by this designation the Chinese insulted
their nation; the name ‘barbarian’ was a matter of ‘national honour’. It added one
more reason to start a war against China. In the December 1834 war petition pre-
sented in the wake of the Napier Affair, the designation ‘barbarian’ was cited by the
Warlike party as one of the major reasons for a show of British naval force in China,
to require ‘ample reparation’.
for the arrogant and degrading language used towards your Majesty and our
country in edicts emanating from the local authorities, wherein your Majesty was
represented as the ‘reverently submissive’ tributary of the Emperor of China, and
your Majesty’s subjects as profligate barbarians, and that they be retracted, and
never again employed by Chinese functionaries.1
The demands on the Chinese to stop calling the British yi, as has been well docu-
mented, would be proposed in the treaty negotiations of 1842, and eventually the
word was banished from Chinese official documents in the 1858 Treaty of Tianjin.2
The forgotten history that this chapter charts is that the equivalence in translation
between yi and ‘barbarian’ was made in Canton between 1828 and 1834. More
importantly, in 1837 the British merchants backtracked on this translation after long
debates that consulted many Chinese teachers and quoted a good number of clas-
sical Chinese texts. The British merchants pinned down what they believed to be
the correct answer: that yi should be translated into English as either ‘foreigner’ or
‘stranger’. But this belated conclusion did not help break the equivalence between yi
and ‘barbarian’ or change the argument that cited the naming as one argument for
war, both of which gained wide circulation after the 1835 war campaign in London.
The Chinese context of the word yi was even more complex. As a naming practice,
the yi designation was another layer of the Qing’s soft border. During the reigns of the
Kangxi and Yongzheng emperors, that is, before the 1720s, Europeans were mainly
A War of Words over ‘Barbarian’ 83
called ‘western ocean people’ (xiyangren). The use of yi to designate Europeans became
a standard practice during the Qing time only starting around the 1750s, coinciding
with the tightening of controls on Europeans in China. Behind the yi designation was
the wish to distinguish China from the rest of the world as part of the soft border that
drew on a scholar-official intellectual tradition known as neo-Confucianism. This
school advocated a non-engagement policy regarding ‘strangers’ and a Confucian fun-
damentalism with a hardened moral outlook exemplified by Commissioner Lin and
his associates’ strict opium eradication policy. The word yi to replace ‘western ocean
people’ was bureaucratic language to refer to the strangers—the Europeans, particu-
larly the British—who were not educated in the Confucian way and were to be kept
outside and quarantined if they came into contact. In Canton the softer border and
the neo-Confucian ideology were mutually reinforcing.
The first yi debate
The issue of naming started in the East India Company days. After long years of trade
in Canton, the EIC—for the first time since James Flint—had an able China hand,
George Thomas Staunton, who could read, write, and converse with the Chinese in
Chinese. Staunton had accompanied his father on the Macartney embassy to the
Qing imperial court when he was twelve and started learning Chinese during the
sea journey to China. He was a treasure to the EIC’s Canton Factory after he joined
in 1798 on account of his linguistic skill.3 The amicable solving of the 1807 Neptune
murder case owed much to Staunton’s language skills in negotiation and his under-
standing of the Chinese legal system and culture.4
One of the things Staunton discovered in Chinese documents in 1814 was that the
Chinese used the word manyi (southern and eastern barbarians) to refer to the British
in official communications. The EIC staff then filed a petition to the local magistrate
arguing that the designation ‘seemed to be pejorative’. The Canton local authorities
replied that it was the ‘general name for foreigners’ and there was nothing pejorative
about it.5 This is the earliest record found of British protesting on the naming issue.
Satisfied with this answer, Staunton later in 1836 would argue that the word yi
was not insulting and should not be translated as ‘barbarian’.6 Robert Morrison, who
succeeded Staunton as translator and interpreter for the EIC, in 1827 described yi as a
‘dubious word, never used by ourselves’.7 This cast a shadow on the word yi, although
he still translated it as ‘foreign’, consistent with his first translation when he published
The Dictionary of the Chinese Language in 1823.8
Yi came to the attention of the British private merchants in the spring of 1828 in
the recently launched Register. It began with the Portuguese, who wished to build
a road ‘for rambling play, and running horses abreast’ as the Chinese understood
what was going on near a Chinese village on the Macao peninsula. Anxious that this
race track was going to injure the feng shui, the local elite sent a petition to the mag-
istrate, which, together with the magistrate’s reply, was translated into English and
published in the Register. The word yimu (foreign chief) was used in the edict to des-
ignate the Portuguese procurator of Macao. The Register translated yimu as ‘barbarian
eye’, adding that this was ‘insulting’, on the basis that it was ‘taking only however a
part of the head, an eye to see and direct, but not allowing in the figure any brain to
control the vision’.9 This interpretation of mu (eye) was capable of arousing a sense
of being insulted, but this was not what the magistrate intended. Mu here denoted a
lower-level official, rather than its literal meaning, ‘eye’. This was probably the earliest
translation of the word yimu in this manner. And yi in this context was regarded as
an insulting Chinese character.
Upon reading this translation, a reader using the pseudonym X wrote a letter to
the Register saying that it ‘seems harsh to call us, Christians from Europe and America,
barbarians’. Yet he thought this was normal, for just as the Greeks and Romans ‘called
the rest of the mankind barbarians, so the modern Christians of Europe, call the
rest of the world “uncivilized” which is equivalent, I fancy, to being barbarian’. His
response towards this alleged insulating designation was to ‘laugh at them’.10 In facing
the label ‘barbarian’, X’s attitude, unlike that of the editor of the Register, was rather
relaxed.
Another reader, Z, traced the etymology of the words yi in Chinese and ‘barbarian’
in English. He quoted from an English translation saying that to the Chinese people
living in the ‘middle kingdom’, people from the east were called yi, from the west
rong, south man, and north di. Yi was part of a system of categorizing other peoples.11
Z then quoted from the Confucian scholar Mencius, who argued that the two sage
kings Shun (ca. 2253–2205? BCE) and Wen (ca. 1184–1135? BCE) were from the
‘western yi’ and ‘eastern yi’, respectively, but what really mattered was that they ruled
virtuously.12 In Mencius’s usage, yi was no longer restricted to the people from the
east; it means ‘non–Middle Kingdom people’ in general. In relating it to two sage
kings, this context gave the character yi a positive connotation. Yet Z was not com-
forted by Mencius’s words, and he added that the commentator of this passage ‘takes
pains to explain, that the odium of the word Ee [yi], must not be applied to them [the
two kings]’.13 Thus, to Z, yi remained a negative designation.
Z had a good reason to believe so, for he found ‘in the political morality of
Confucius, he speaks of expelling bad men from the middle and flowery Chinese
nation to the four yi, i.e. the “barbarous nations” all around’. ‘The yi nations therefore
contain the refuse of mankind.’14 Z’s reading of the word yi was one of the earliest
inferences of the Chinese rejecting people from outside the ‘Middle Kingdom’.
It seems the neo-Confucian interpretation of Confucian teachings in its funda-
mentalist manner, which emphasized the distinction between the Chinese and the
rest, found its way into Z’s reading of the word yi.
Nor was Z satisfied with the Europeans’ treatment of others. He traced the etymol-
ogy of ‘barbarian’ back to the Greek barbaros and commented on ‘how the Christians
of Europe have treated the people they deemed barbarians, and savages’. ‘Although
their religion taught them to call no men common or unclean, they have considered
Africans and Indians as an inferior species and deistical sophists have taken the same
side as these pseudo-Christians.’ He was of the opinion that these designations, both
the European and the Chinese, implied that you may ‘give a dog a bad name, and then
you may kill them’.15 Z seemed to have written in the context of the movement for the
abolition of slavery in the early nineteenth century. The message from Z was clear:
that this kind of designation, be it yi or ‘barbarian’, was ‘pernicious to the welfare of
mankind’.16
Less than a year later, in 1829, an edict from the governor-general of Canton,
replying to a complaint from British private merchants about the low price of cotton,
was translated and published in the Register. Two rather contradictory footnotes were
inserted into the translation. One read, ‘Foreign, or barbarians, is used throughout,
instead of the pronoun We; Merchants, would be better.’ The other was confron-
tational. It read, ‘The offensive word E [yi], barbarian, is repeated six times in the
space of three lines.’17 These two notes expressing different opinions could have come
from the two co-editors of the Register. The first one could have been written by
Robert Morrison. Morrison was rather hesitant about whether yi should be trans-
lated as ‘barbarians’ or ‘foreign’. He had translated it as ‘foreign’ in 1823 and 1827. But
during the Napier Affair in 1834, he would translate yimu, used by Chinese officials
to call Napier, as ‘barbarian eye’, just like in the 1828 article in the Register. Morrison’s
change of mind reflected the changing relations between the Chinese and British at
the time British private merchants became dominant in the port. This determined
how the word yi was understood and represented in English. Matheson was likely the
co-editor who inserted the second note, for he argued that yi meant ‘barbarian’ and
was insulting when he took the December 1834 petition back to London to campaign
for a war with China, and his opinion was representative of the Warlike party.18
Even though ambiguity existed in 1829, the general opinion was shifting towards
believing that yi meant ‘barbarian’. By early 1832, as has been well documented, when
the Lord Amherst went up the eastern coast to survey the coast and to find trade
opportunities, the British confronted local officials on the word yi used on this occa-
sion, as it was understood to mean ‘barbarian’.19 When the investigating party led by
Hugh Hamilton Lindsay and Karl Gützlaff reached Shanghai, they wrote a letter to
the Superintendent of the Maritime Military Defence Circuit Wu Qitai asking for
permission to trade for mutual benefit. Wu replied that there was no such precedent
for Shanghai as a port for the yi to trade and asked the ship to leave immediately.20 The
party did not seem bothered much by the refusal of trade but protested to Wu saying
that Britain was not an yiguo (barbarian country) but an waiguo (foreign country)
and that this wording in Wu’s edict injured the ‘dignity’ (timian) of the British. They
reasoned that the British possessed unprecedentedly large territory and imperial
power and thus should not be called yi. In reply, Wu quoted the passage of Mencius
about the two sages that Z had quoted, except that Wu took it as evidence that yi
insinuated nothing sinister.21
The party then answered back that Britain was in the west and should not be called
yi (the original meaning of yi was people from the east). The Record of Laws and
Systems of the Qing (Da Qing huidian) was quoted to argue that yi was used in it to
designate ethnic minorities of China, saying that the British were different from them
and that therefore the British should not be referred to as yi.22 They further quoted
a passage from the celebrated Song dynasty (960–1279) poet Su Shi (1037–1101) to
prove that yi did not simply mean ‘foreigners’:
The E[yi] and Teih[di] cannot be governed by the same rules of government as
those of the central nation. They are like brute creation (like birds and beasts);
if liberal rules of government were applied to them, it would infallibly give rise to
rebellious confusion. The ancient kings knew this well, and therefore ruled them
without laws. This mode of government is decidedly the most judicious mode of
governing them.23
Su Shi’s passage was a key neo-Confucian text that made a distinction between the
cultured ‘Middle Kingdom’ people and the rest of the world. The British certainly
had an able hand on board, probably one of their Chinese teachers, in assisting with
arguing with Wu. A few days later Wu issued a decree to the Lord Amherst with a
much softer mode of expression and most importantly used only the term ‘the said
merchants’ (gai shang) to denote the British.24 The Lord Amherst left Shanghai two
days later. As Lydia Liu argued, had the Lord Amherst lingered within his jurisdiction,
Wu could have lost his job if not worse, for no foreign ships were supposed to appear
in waters other than those of Canton.25 While begging them to leave, one lower offi-
cial was in tears in front of Gützlaff and Lindsay; the change from yi to shang was a
move by the bureaucrats to save themselves from trouble.26
For the Qing court, more was at stake than the local official’s career and life. They
regarded the British attempt to establish contact with the coastal Chinese people for
trade as a threat to imperial state security and order. Several lower-ranking officials
were punished merely because the Lord Amherst appeared in their jurisdiction.
Repeated nationwide edicts were issued from the court reinforcing the prohibition of
contact between the Chinese and foreigners.27 But the Chinese subjects were falling
over each other to make contact with the Lord Amherst. This created an unseen bustle
along the coast wherever the Lord Amherst went. The coastal people went after the
British for many different reasons: to trade opium or tea, to beg for money, to satisfy
their curiosity, to offer their services as ghost writers for petitioning, and to return
a favour done by a certain Westerner to someone’s ancestor. The officials along the
coastal area again and again issued decrees lest social order be disturbed, fearing the
potential of disorder to lead to rebellion.28 The distribution of the translated pamphlet
A Brief Account of the English Character—as described in Chapter 3—on this occasion
caused the Daoguang emperor to be alarmed about the breach of the dynastic state
security—the Canton system—when he noticed the printing style was Chinese inland.
Studying the Lord Amherst’s voyage, Lydia Liu argued that in protesting against
the word yi, the sovereign desire of the British was injured by this strange moment
of mirroring as the British imposed the English meaning ‘barbarian’ on the Chinese
word: the translation was made by the British to their own injury. This ‘colonial-
ity of injury . . . found its fullest legal expression . . . in the British justification for
war’.29 Liu’s ‘injury’ was British merchants’ ‘national honour’. Her argument, although
speculation rather than a contextualized analysis, explains well the circumstances in
which in the late 1820s and 1830s the last thing the British private merchants, and to
an extent the staff of the EIC, expected was to be called ‘barbarian’ when they arrived
in Canton. Rather, from time to time some British merchants called the Chinese
‘semi-barbarous’ or outright ‘barbarian’.30
Employing Chinese to fight the yi concept31
After the confrontation over the word yi on the journey to the east coast, Gützlaff
seemed to have been fascinated by the idea that Chinese regarded outsiders as barbar-
ians. In the following years he spent a great deal of his creative energy in combatting
it. In the manifesto of his Chinese journal, the Eastern Western Monthly Magazine
(Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan), Gützlaff commented that the Chinese ‘still
profess to be first among the nations of the earth and regard all others as Barbarians’.
Gützlaff argued that his magazine would inform the Chinese ‘we are not indeed
Barbarian’.32 Gützlaff published a whole series of poems, letters, and short stories in
Chinese for the purpose of confronting the word yi in the Eastern Western Monthly
Magazine (Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan). These were all in the form of first-
person accounts, purportedly by Chinese writers, for the purpose of persuading
readers more convincingly.
Gützlaff favoured the epistolary format that was then one of the most popular
genres in both France and Great Britain. Twelve letters were printed, allegedly
written by Chinese travelling abroad to inform people back in China of the good life
they found in the outside world. These included letters from ‘A Nephew Abroad to
His Aunt’, ‘A Nephew Abroad to His Uncle’, ‘The Uncle’s Reply to the Nephew’, and
‘A Scholar Abroad to His Friend’.33 The letters informed relatives and friends back
home about the true life of Westerners, which was anything but barbarian. Gützlaff ’s
work can be seen as part of the Canton Warlike party’s informational war, prior to the
founding of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China.
A letter entitled ‘A Son Abroad to his Father’ (Zi wai ji fu), for instance, purported
to be from Peru’s capital, Lima. It first described how on the sea journey the sailor
used equipment such as the armillary sphere (huantianyi) and an hourglass together
with the time of sunrise to measure the whereabouts of the ship in terms of longitude
and latitude. The letter related in detail the well-designed modern ship, sophisticated
sailing technology, and breadth of geographical knowledge that were used by the
Europeans. When ‘the son’ came to Peru and its capital city, he recounts:
I used to see the barbarians ( yi) as people living in insignificant states. When
[I] arrived in the country called Peru seeing the broad space, the beautiful city,
the impressive people, and the prosperous market, I [was rendered] shameful
and speechless. For Chinese had learned only that the barbarians were starving
to death and [led] a poor, low-class [life], and we felt sorry for them. I did not
expect to come to the city called Lima to see where houses were well situated;
streets were wide; [people] behaved according to the five cardinal rules and were
well-educated; agriculture and business complemented each other; labourers and
entrepreneurs respected each other. Also the government here propagated doc-
trines making people know rectitude and etiquette.34
Peru was made by Gützlaff to conform to Confucian values as if it were a decent

Chinese city. The existence of other equally prosperous civilizations outside China
and the inappropriateness of the term yi were the key messages of this letter. But
the historical reality of Peru between the 1820s and 1840s, the time when ‘the son’
supposedly travelled to that country, was neither Confucian nor prosperous. Newly
independent from the Spanish Empire, Peru was in a chaotic state from 1819, which
lasted more than two decades. The unstable situation manifested in the fact that
between 1821 and 1845 there were twenty-four regime changes and the constitution
was rewritten six times.35 The coming and going of armies, especially in the capital
city Lima, made daily life difficult and certainly did not generate the flourishing scene
purportedly observed by this Chinese traveller.
The same tactic of portraying a utopian world to Chinese readers can be found in
the ten Chinese poems in the form of five-character regular verse allegedly written by
a Chinese person living in London and published in Gützlaff ’s magazine at the begin-
ning of 1834. The poems described the broad streets of affluent London, with bright
road lamps in the night, the splendid houses with painted walls and stained glass, the
River Thames and its bridges being as marvellous as those of Luoyang in China. There
was entertainment by comedy in theatre, high society moving out of London to enjoy
the countryside in September, the custom of dressing up for dinner, silver and glass
dinner sets, and committed, loving husbands and wives.36 This was nothing like the
wretched London of Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist, published five years later in 1839.
The London fed to the Chinese reader had no space for the pickpocketing orphans in
the East End, nor any scene like that of the 12-year-old Dickens working in a boot-
blacking factory beside the River Thames.37 It was a utopia painted in words for the
Chinese for the sake of combatting the alleged Chinese notion of Western ‘barbarism’.
In General Account of Great Britain (Dayinguo tongzhi), also published in 1834,
Gützlaff created a Chinese traveller called Ye Duhua, who went to England and stayed
there for more than twenty years, coming back to China to tell his countrymen about
his experience. Five chapters of the book each contained a dialogue between Ye and
his countrymen explaining one aspect of Britain. The dialogue in the first chapter
described the evening when Ye, after arriving back in China, talked to an audience
of his compatriots about what he had seen in Britain. One of the audience members,
Lin Quande, entered into dialogue with Ye. Lin asked whether it was true that the yi
were animal-like, eating grass and living in caves, and so on. Ye said to Lin:
Although we know no geography and history of foreign countries, we can see the
foreign guests in Canton who more or less display the dignity of their countries.
In terms of artisan skill we can just see from their ships. Albeit they do not know
Chinese, they have their own literature which is no different to ours.38
Through Ye’s first-hand account the book revealed that the British had the same
dignity as the Chinese and were equally civilized. These dialogues, poems, and letters
about London, Britain, and Peru spoke in first-person accounts as a device to make
inroads into the Chinese symbolic system to persuade the Chinese that the British
were not barbarians; on the contrary, they were respectable people. But was this
a mirage created through translation by the merchants and missionaries tilting at
windmills, or was it a genuine pernicious idea held by the Chinese? The British mer-
chants’ second round of debates about the yi question in their print media, starting in
late 1835, rendered their previous work befitting of Don Quixote.
The second yi debate
During the campaign for a war in London between 1835 and 1836, Matheson pub-
lished a pamphlet entitled The Present Position and Prospects of the British Trade
with China. In it Matheson argued that the Chinese ‘consider all other inhabitants
of the earth (as already intimated) as barbarians’.39 Lindsay, who led the confronta-
tion in Shanghai in 1832, also in 1836 published a pamphlet entitled Letter to Lord
Palmerston on British Relations with China in London, supporting war. On the yi
question Lindsay argued:
I do not hesitate to maintain that these terms are premeditatedly used by the
Chinese in the most offensive and insulting sense, and with no object but the
deeply rooted one of persuading themselves that all foreigners are beings morally
degraded and inferior to Chinese, nor can we reasonably expect better treatment
so long as this impression is allowed to remain.40
To Lindsay, the barbarian question was central to the British position in China and
by extension to the prosperity of British commerce. The word yi symbolized how
badly the British were treated by the Chinese. Lindsay’s and Matheson’s pamphlets
published in London, like the December 1834 war petition and the war metaphor
employed in the founding of the SDUKC, were written after Napier’s funeral. In all
these, the anger over China’s treatment of Napier and frustration over the dashed
hope of reforming trade conditions were apparent.
But Napier’s conduct was controversial, as was the war campaign that held his
death up as its rallying banner. Not only was there the controversy of petition signed
by ‘less than half of the British residents in Canton’, as the Pacific party argued, but
Sinologists in London were appalled at Napier’s actions. The Asiatic Journal com-
mented that Napier’s improper mode of contact with the Chinese government ‘has
been almost universally condemned at home’.41 The Quarterly Review echoed that the
literal translation of yi into English as ‘barbarian’ was largely responsible for making
the Chinese ‘appear to great disadvantage in the eyes of Europeans’ and argued that a
more idiomatic translation of ‘stranger or foreigner’ was more appropriate.42
Staunton, who had by now returned to Britain and was active in London political
circles, criticized the translation by saying that it ‘tends to widen the breach between
us and the Chinese’. In his opinion ‘the sooner it is abandoned the better’. Neither was
Staunton happy with the translation of yimu as ‘barbarian eye’, as he himself was an
yimu in Canton in the 1810s. Quoting from Robert Morrison’s dictionary, he argued
that yimu should be translated as ‘the head or principal person’.43
With opinions widely differing in London and the political circumstances not in
their favour, Matheson and Lindsay found their campaign was getting them nowhere
and there was no sign at all of the possibility of ‘ample reparation’. But the idea that
the Chinese called the British ‘barbarian’ was appealing and had more purchase in
the print media in 1830s Britain. Despite opposition from Sinologists, the translation
after entering public discussion took on a life of its own started to spread around this
time. And it has lasted well into the twenty-first century.
As Canton’s and London’s public spheres were connected, six months later, in
September 1835, the article in the Asiatic Journal on the yi question arrived in Canton
and served to ignite a second round of debate. The Register started, as it strongly
disagreed with the Asiatic Journal, insisting that yi was an ‘insulting and disrespectful
epithet’.44 The Repository, alluding to the Italian adage ‘traduttore, traditore’ (transla-
tor, traitor), mockingly commented that if the ‘idiomatic translation’ were translated
back into Chinese, the mandarin would denounce the translator as a traitor who
would be ‘forthwith dispatched to the cold country’.45
In the following two years, the yi issue was constantly talked about in the Canton
print media, especially in the Register.46 One reader commented that this designation
was a ‘positive insult’ and asked ‘our government to do their duty to us here’. This
was echoed by the Register’s editor, John Slade, who commented that the ‘ridiculous
pretensions of the black haired people’ must be checked and that it was a ‘birthright’
to ask Britain to rectify this situation for the British in Canton.47 The designation
‘barbarian’ became a focal point for part of the British community to vent their dis-
content and a rallying cry for the Warlike party in their quest for a war. When the
second round of debates started in late 1835, the whole Canton foreign community
seemed to agree that yi meant ‘barbarian’. The Canton Press did not see the word itself
as sufficiently offensive to merit a war, but it agreed on the translation.48
Opinion was to take a U-turn in 1837, when the word yi, together with the
phrase ziwai shengcheng that was used in an official document, was published in the
newspapers. As the campaign of prohibition against opium consumption and import
intensified in mid-1837, it moved into dealing with foreign smugglers. Governor-
General Deng Tingzhen (in office, 1835–1840), ordered the expulsion of the three
well-known opium traders, William Jardine, Richard Turner, and Lancelot Dent,
from Canton (they would not leave until early 1839). The edict on this matter was
translated into English and published in the Register with the sentence ‘gai yi ziwai
shengcheng’ translated thus: ‘as these said foreigners belong to other countries’.49 The
next week, the editor John Slade stated in an amendment that, having consulted a
native Chinese teacher, he now thought this sentence should be translated ‘as these
foreigners are born and brought up in the depraved principles of uncivilised nations
they are an impracticable and untameable race’.50 This was more like an explanation
than a translation. Slade believed he understood the Chinese attitude in using the
word yi and wanted to teach this point to the community through his English render-
ing of the six Chinese characters.
John Robert Morrison had translated the same edict in the Press three weeks
earlier, in which he rendered the sentence merely as ‘the said foreign merchants’
without paying much attention. Upon seeing the two translations of Slade, Morrison
went to ask a native teacher and then rendered the sentence with a slight amendment
as ‘if the said foreign merchants outrageously produce and create (trouble)’. Morrison
translated the term shengcheng as ‘to produce and create’. Slade responded to this by
quoting a long list of examples of shengcheng in other Chinese contexts to demonstrate
that his translation ‘to be born and brought up’ was the correct one.51 Morrison was
more likely to be in the wrong here, with ziwai shengcheng meaning ‘uncultured in the
Chinese way’, instead of its literal meaning of ‘producing’. Morrison’s reading does not
make sense. Slade’s rendering was much closer to how the sentence would be under-
stood at the time: as the political philosophy was dominated by neo-Confucianism,
the bureaucrats wanted to make a clear distinction between the Chinese and the rest.
The disagreement between Slade and Morrison generated heat for debates among
the Canton foreigners, which came to the boil in the summer of 1837. The following
month, the Register was full of articles, readers’ letters and editorial comments on the
yi question. Chinese sources such as the ancient Shangshu (Venerated Documents)
and the dictionary Kangxi zidian (1716) were quoted; and Mencius’s and Su Shi’s
paragraphs along with other obscure passages relating to the word yi were quoted and
explained at length in order to pin down the exact meaning. Chinese teachers were
consulted and quoted as authoritative.52
While the various opinions were voiced on top of each other, Slade started to
change his opinion dramatically and believed that the etymology of yi fell on both
sides and could be translated as both ‘foreigners or stranger’ and ‘barbarian’, but that
the current usage of the word in official documents was more likely to mean ‘for-
eigners or stranger’—the same opinion as that of the Asiatic Journal in 1835. He put
this out in the Register in July. There were disagreements. Slade then spelled out his
opinions ever more clearly than before: ‘Upon a balance of the probabilities of the
two meanings, we still hold our opinion that foreigner is preferable to barbarian.’53
Slade’s change of opinion on the translation likely occurred because in translating the
term ziwai shengcheng he had realized that the key to the question was the distinc-
tion between the Chinese and non-Chinese in cultural terms. Thus, the difference
signalled in the word yi did not mean that the British were regarded as ‘barbarian’.
Slade then further clarified that ‘when the two characters Man E [manyi] are used
together, then, indeed, contempt and insult are expressed’.54 Distinguishing between
yi and manyi sealed the argument, for it put yi in a positive light, while manyi took
the blame—Slade probably did not see the 1814 petition in which the British were
called precisely manyi.
This discovery did not mean that the British merchants were ready to be called
yi. The word yi, if not offensive, was certainly not respectful to the British imperial
sensitivity. One reader referenced an example where the Chinese called mountain
tribes ‘Too E’ (tuyi, literally ‘soil strangers’). He argued that Europeans were not in
the same categories as these people. ‘And certainly, we shall all regard it as a sign of
better feeling of the Chinese towards us, when they willingly allow the term to go
into disuse, which I hope will soon be the case.’55 This was about making Chinese
acknowledge the self-regard of Britain as a mighty and civilized nation.
The British merchants in Canton had other reasons to ask for the disuse of the
word yi. In the same article that reaffirmed the opinion that yi meant ‘foreigner or
stranger’, Slade complained:
We are sinking day by day into deeper contempt. Walking is forbidden, our
passage boats are stopped, our ships are driven to the offing, boats carrying des-
patches are seized, Hong merchants fail and the foreign merchants are robbed;—
and all this and more, much more, is borne without remonstrance.56
The campaign to drive opium out of China had further tightened the grip on the for-
eigners and made their trade and lives in Canton more difficult than ever. The roots of
the word yi might have been uncovered, but the Canton system was restrictive as ever,
and China beyond the Thirteen Factories remained inaccessible. The designation was
to be blamed, for through it the British were seen as the others who were not to be
engaged with. The word still needed to be confronted.
The wishes to expel the word were brought to the negotiating table in 1842 during
the war. The interpreters were Morrison and Gützlaff, who had participated in the yi
debates with different opinions. The only available records on the yi question in the
negotiations are from the Chinese side. Yi was ‘not graceful’ (bu mei), which was cited
by the British side as the reason for stopping the use. Mencius’s words concerning
King Shun and King Wen were again cited by the Chinese negotiator as proof that
yi contained no negative meaning. After arguing for a while, the two sides could not
agree on the issue, and the case was dropped.57
The 1837 summer debate was the reason that the British side used the ‘not grace-
ful’ argument. They did not argue that the term was ‘insulting’, as the first debate and
the war campaign of 1835 had. But this did not make history. The translation ‘barbar-
ian’ had gone into circulation. The justification before and after the war swayed the
yi question.
More than three ways of naming
Though yi received the attention and notoriety in the English-speaking world, it was
only one of the three major ways of designating Europeans during the Qing period,
namely the ‘western ocean system’, ‘the yi system’, and the ‘devil (gui) system’.58
The term ‘western ocean’ (xiyang), together with its two variations—xi (west) and
yang (ocean) as a prefix in making a compound—were the main words used before
the 1750s to refer to European people and objects. When a missionary who lived in
Canton presented ‘western wines’ ( yangjiu) to the Kangxi emperor in 1710, he was
referred to as a ‘western ocean person’ (xiyangren).59 So was the Jesuit who was
granted the right to live in a church in Canton in 1707, and the missionary involved
in a quarrel with his Chinese landlord in 1715.60 Made known of the quarrel of 1715
by a missionary serving in the court, the Kangxi emperor ordered the governor of
Zhili to investigate with a specific instruction: ‘The western ocean people have come
to China for nearly three hundred years, and no unpleasant incidents have been seen.
If the case does not matter much, [it] can be convicted lightly.’61
The merchants coming to trade were also called ‘western ocean people’.62 Every
year when the trading season started the Canton governor-general would organize
memorials to report the numbers of European ships that had arrived and the types
of goods they carried. The merchants and the staff of the East India Company were
called in these memorials ‘western ocean people’ (xiyangren); their ships were named
‘ocean ships’ (yangchuan); their writing system, ‘western ocean words’ (xiyangzi); the
enamel they carried to China, xiyangfalan; their European cloth, yangbu; and their
unnameable or unspecified cargo, xiyangwujian (western things).63
Canton was also the first port of call for Europeans other than missionaries and
merchants who visited the Qing court. The governor-general there reported in 1718
the arrival of a ‘western ocean mandarin’ (xiyangdaren), that is, an ambassador, sent
by ‘the Western Ocean King of Cultivation’ (xiyang jiaohuawang), that is, the pope.64
Another embassy sent by the pope in 1725, understood by the Qing to be a tribute, was
called the ‘western ocean ambassador’ (xiyang shichen).65 The Portuguese procurator
of Macao was designated ‘the western ocean official in charge’ (xianyangren lishiguan)
in a memorial of 1719, as at this time Macao had an ambiguous self-governing status
in a far corner of the Qing Empire.66
When the negative side effects of the prohibition on Christianity in the 1720s
reached the Portuguese in Macao in 1724, the governor-general of Canton made
a count of the population there and reported that there were 3,567 western ocean
people. He assured the Yongzheng emperor that because the Macao Portuguese had
their own livelihoods on the peninsula, they differed from the ‘the western ocean men
who preach doctrines’ (chuanjiao xiyanren), the missionaries.67
The dominance of the western ocean system in naming Europeans before the
1750s signified a neutral position, if not a welcoming policy, under the early Qing.
This was exemplified by Kangxi’s 1715 edicts to the Zhili governor asking for leniency
on behalf of a missionary, saying that Europeans did not make much trouble. It was
also consistent with the laissez-faire policy that opened four ports in 1683.
The character yi (夷, the second yi used during the Qing; hereafter referred to as
‘the second yi’) that caused trouble in the 1830s was not widely used in the official
communication before the 1750s. In its stead was the word yi (彝, hereafter the first
yi), with the same pronunciation and with four times more strokes to write. The first
yi was not the main designation but rather a narrative variation of the ‘west ocean
system’ in the pre-1750 period. When it appeared, the first yi was used to form com-
pounds to name foreign things: ‘foreign ships’ (yichuan), ‘foreign people’ ( yiren), ‘for-
eigners from afar’ ( yuanyi), ‘foreign merchants’ ( yi), and ‘foreign headmen’ ( yimu).68
The last time the first yi is to be found in the available documents dates to 1755.
By that time the second yi was already commonly used in naming European objects
and people.69 Even though they had vastly different connotations, both the yi and
western ocean systems were mainly used by scholar-officials.
The coastal communities—whether functionaries of the Canton port or those
who had occasional encounters with Europeans—used the ‘devil system’, gui (devil,
ghost). Their naming with its ostentatiously displayed negative meanings signified
the troubled relations between the coastal communities and Europeans—particu-

larly, the seamen aboard European ships searching for fresh water and provision
on the Chinese coast and going for shore leave in Canton, whose interactions with
coastal communities were often characterized by looting, robbing, stealing, rioting,
and alcohol-fuelled violence. The term guilao (devil, white man) is still widely used
among Cantonese speakers (in Cantonese: guãy lõw) half a millennium since the first
Europeans landed on Chinese shores.70
In addition to these three systems—western ocean, yi, and devil—there were
the ambiguously placed ‘uncultured’ ( fan), ‘outside’ (wai), and ‘afar’ ( yuan) that
were infrequently used. ‘Uncultured’ was used commonly to name the tribe peoples
outside the Han Chinese civilization. When it came to Chinese-Western relations,
‘uncultured’ was sometimes used in the official documents to form terms such as
‘uncultured people’ ( fanren) in designating Europeans. Fan also came together with
the ‘devil system’—and to a lesser extent with the western ocean and yi systems—to
form compounds. The most notorious example was fankwae ( fangui, the ‘uncul-
tured devils’), used by Canton port functionaries and coastal Chinese to name the
Europeans they had encountered.71
Less frequently, ‘outside’ and ‘afar’ were used by scholar-officials to name
Europeans, such as in the case of ‘people from afar’ (yuanren). They were also used
to form compounds with both the yi and western ocean systems, resulting in terms
such as ‘afar foreigners’ (yuanyi) and ‘outside foreigners’ (waiyi). Other mixtures also
appeared occasionally in the documents that used words mixing the three systems
and the three infrequent words, ending up with combinations such as ‘west ocean
foreigner’ (xiyang yiren) and ‘the uncultured of afar’ (yuanfan).72
The ‘uncultured’, ‘outside’, or ‘afar’ terms do not merit a system because none
of these became the dominant word used in a period or by a community. These
words with various connotations may reflect individual official’s viewpoints and
circumstances of the time when it was use. The less frequent words—‘outside’, ‘afar’,
or ‘uncultured’, and both versions of yi before the 1750s—functioned mostly as alter-
natives for narrative variation, as classical Chinese tends to use short sentences and
as a result in memorials and edicts the subject would be repeated in each new sen-
tence, becoming repetitive. Thus, ‘people from outer countries’ (waiguozhiren) and
‘uncultured guests’ ( fanke) were used to replace ‘western ocean people’ (xiyangren),
while ‘ships of the uncultured’ ( fanbo or fanchuan) were employed in replacing ‘ocean
ships’ (yangchuan).73
The rise of the second yi in replacing the long-used ‘western ocean’ (xiyang) as
the leading term happened in the 1750s. As quoted above, the Portuguese procurator
was called in 1719 ‘the western ocean official in charge’ (xiyang lishiguan) and by
1828 ‘the foreign headman’ (yimu). The first appearance of the second yi in the Qing
documents to be found was in 1718 in the form of ‘foreigner’ (yiren) and ‘foreign
ships’ ( yichuan), and in the same document words related to ‘western ocean’ were
used as the main terms to refer to the Portuguese and their ships in Macao.74 This was
an incidental appearance, as ‘western ocean’ was still the dominant term and the first
yi was used as a narrative alternative in this period.
By the 1750s, the use of the second yi was common. For instance, two memorials
to the court in 1755 from Canton and Fujian both used mainly the second yi. The
governor-general of Canton, in reporting a homicide case in which a British sailor
was shot dead by a Frenchman in Canton, used ‘foreign people’ ( yiren) to refer to
both the French and the British, while the superintendents of trade of the two coun-
tries were called ‘foreign chiefs’ ( yiqiu) and their ship a ‘foreign ship’ (yichuan).75
The governor of Fujian employed the same set of vocabulary in addition to the term
‘foreign merchants’ ( yishang) to report the arrival of Spanish from the Philippines,
who came to Amoy to trade that year. He emphasized that the Spanish behaved well,
hinting to the court that Amoy ought to keep the trade. In both memorials, yi was
used as the major term for Europeans, while ‘ocean’ ( yang) and ‘outside’ (wai) were
used as narrative alternatives.76
During the Flint incident of 1759, the second yi was widely used in the memori-
als from the coastal provinces of Canton, Fujian, Zhejiang, and Zhili in reporting
Flint’s movements, while ‘western ocean’ (xiyang) and ‘outside’ (wai) were used as
narrative alternatives. James Flint was most of the time called a ‘foreign merchant’
(yishang) and the EIC ships ‘foreign ships’ (yichuan).77 The same model of expression
was employed in the memorial that laid down the rules of the Canton system pro-
posed after the Flint case: The Rules for Guarding against Foreigners. ‘Western ocean
man’ (xiyangren) appeared only once in this memorial and was used in reference to a
missionary who served in the court in the Astronomy Bureau.78 As the Flint incident
was a nationwide case and the court was greatly displeased, these memorials and the
many edicts issued by the court to the coastal provinces and published in the Beijing
Gazetteer (Jingbao) had the effect of making the use of the second yi widespread,
consolidating its role as the leading word in naming Europeans.
When Lord Macartney’s embassy landed in Canton in 1793, the related edicts and
memorials were all using the second yi to designate the emissary and his entourage.
Only in very few places in the documents were found the terms ‘western ocean’ or
‘afar’, which was made famous by James Hevia’s book Cherish Men from Afar.79
But the word xiyang did not yet die. There were moments of great confusion
regarding the terms used in the memorials in 1808 and 1809, when the British
briefly occupied Macao.80 The Qing civil and military officials busily reported to
the court about the crisis. The term ‘western ocean people’ (xiyangren) was used in
great numbers to name the Portuguese, since their nation was called Great Western
Ocean (Daxiyang). In these memorials and edicts, yi virtually acquired the meaning
of ‘British’, as opposed to the ‘western ocean people’ (xiyangren), the Portuguese.81
The gradually diminished numbers of Christian missionaries who came to the court
via Macao and served in the Astronomy Bureau were another group of Europeans
still called ‘western ocean men’ in the early nineteenth century—a continuation of
the name used since the late Ming period when Christian missionaries first arrived.82
This indicates that the word yi was associated with primarily the British of Canton
and the period that the British dominated the Asian seas.
When the British private merchants started their translation of memorials and
edicts to publish in their newspapers in the late 1820s, the designation was nearly
exclusively the second yi. The practice of Catholic missionaries serving in the court
was virtually extinct; the Daoguang emperor did not have the chance, as his great-
great-grandfather Kangxi had a century prior, to personally know missionaries, con-
verse with them, and learn Western knowledge from them. Nor did Daoguang have
the occasion, like Kangxi, to say, ‘The western ocean people have been coming to
China for nearly three hundred years, and no unpleasant incidents have yet been seen’:
the Flint incident, the occupation of Macao, quarrels between Europeans in Canton,
incidents of deaths of Chinese port functionaries and coastal people at the hands of
European sailors (and vice versa), and other negative reports reached the Qing court
yearly. The situation had changed. Negative collective memories were recorded and
accentuated on both sides. Yi’s dominance in naming reflected the changes.
The irony is that after the ban on the word yi in 1858, as Fang Weigui has docu-
mented, the word yi was gradually replaced by ‘ocean’ ( yang), ‘the west’ (xi), and
‘outside’ (wai) to form compounds in designating Westerners and things from the
West.83 By force, the old ways of the early Qing returned.
Naming the uncultured
The political-intellectual evolution of the Qing Empire provides another context for
understanding the yi issue. The dominance of the second yi in naming from the mid-
eighteenth century was a manifestation of great intellectual changes taking place in
the Qing Empire and along with them China’s perception of Europeans.
The same pronunciation and four times fewer strokes, indicating that the replace-
ment of the first yi by the second yi was possibly for the sake of easier and faster
writing, as the two characters were interchangeable in the classical text. But it was far
more complicated than this. The second yi etymologically means ‘people from the
eastern region’, but in its usage as early as in Confucius’s time (551–479 BCE), yi was
lumped together with di (northern people) with a negative connotation attached.
Confucius’s saying in the Analects resonated in the ensuing 2,000 years: ‘The Yi and
Di peoples, even with their rulers, are still inferior to the Xia [the Middle Kingdom]
states without their rulers.’84 Contrasting sharply with this unfavourable pedigree of
the second yi, the first yi had the connotation of auspiciousness. In classical texts it
meant the ‘bronze vessel’ that was used in grand state rituals, and by extension it has
the meaning ‘cardinal principles’.
The early Qing official documents were the only place that the first yi was used
as a generic name for peoples from outside ‘China proper’.85 Appearing alongside
the ‘western ocean system’ in the official documents in the period before the 1750s,
the first yi was a rather peculiar choice. The most likely explanation is that the
scholar-officials of the early Qing period were conscious of the derogatory signifi-
cation of the second yi, for the Manchus were precisely the tribal people from the
east, and they were referred to in this manner in Ming official documents.86 Thus,
the scholar-officials of the early Qing skilfully replaced it with the first yi. A com-
parison of court documents from the early Qing and the Ming periods demonstrates
the point. In an official document of 1655—the first decade of Qing rule in China
proper—for instance, European cannon were referred to using the first yi as hongyi
dapao (the red-haired-stranger’s great cannon), while three decades earlier, during
the Ming dynasty, in a 1627 official edict the character used in this term was the
second yi.87 The replacement was not complete, but it was a common practice.88 A few
instances of the second yi appeared in Qing official documents before the 1750s, with
a handful of them denoting Europeans while most of them referred to peoples from
the north-west and south-west of China proper.89 In comparison, the first yi was more
frequently used in this period.
The re-emergence of the second yi in official documents after the 1750s meant that
the character was no longer associated with the sensitive issue of the Manchus’ alien
rule over China proper. The Yongzheng emperor’s response to the 1728 Zeng Jing
(1679–1739) case played a role here.90 Zeng was a scholar-elite of the early Qing
period. Inspired by Ming loyalist ideas, Zeng approached the governor-general of
Shaanxi and Gansu, Yue Zhongqi (1686–1754), urging him to rebel against the Qing.
Zeng’s exhortation to Yue was based on the knowledge that Yue was a descendant of
the famed patriot Yue Fei (1103–1142), who was loyal to the Song dynasty in resist-
ing the invasion of the Jurchen dynasty (1115–1234), which was in turn the ancestor
of the current Qing dynasty. Yue, rather than acting as the Ming patriot Zheng
expected, turned Zeng in.
This case drew the Yongzheng emperor’s attention to problematic words like yi,
through which the Ming loyalists called forth the Confucian distinction between
the yi (applying to the Manchus) and the Han Chinese, in order to incite rebellion.
After Zeng Jing was punished, in 1733 the emperor noticed that self-censorship was
common among the literati, who either left a blank space or replaced those words
that had been used prior to the 1644 conquest to refer to the Manchus. In addition
to the first yi, the emperor noticed the displacement of the term lu (northern tribes),
which as a name for the nomadic tribes would conjure up the image of the nomadic
people raiding border towns and taking prisoners. The emperor realized that the
empty space or replacement of lu and yi actually drew attention to the Manchus’

origin, the semantic oddness speaking even louder than just using the words outright.
Also, as Lydia Liu argued, Yongzheng understood these words as names of a local
region, and their negative connotation was trivial to the more important fact that
the Qing held the mandate of heaven. The emperor wanted his understanding of the
matter to prevail.91 For these complex reasons he decreed that unnecessary replace-
ment was a crime of ‘great disrespect’ (dabujing), which was one of the ten unlawful
behaviours deemed unpardonable according to the Great Qing Code.92
At this time, the main designation for Europeans was still the ‘western ocean
system’; thus, this did not have much impact on names for Europeans. The impe-
rial injunction, nonetheless, gave the second yi the chance to come back. Following
the Yongzheng emperor’s prohibition, the second yi resumed its life as the word for
people who were not part of the Han civilization, as it had been in the previous two
millennia. Yongzheng did not, however, completely kill the first yi. The first yi still
appeared in the memorial sent from Canton in 1752, from Ningbo in 1755, and also
in an undated document produced around 1755 to refer to Europeans in Canton.93
After the British were referenced using the second yi in the 1750s, the first yi used in
this manner then disappeared.
The return of the second yi in the 1750s also rode on the tide of an intellectual
trend that Kai-wing Chow termed the ‘rise of Confucian ritualism’. This school
of thought was an extreme form of neo-Confucianism, which started its develop-
ment in the late Ming period and achieved ascendancy during the Qianlong reign.
In searching for ‘purism’ and ‘classicism’, the scholar-elite wanted to bring back the
perceived ideal Confucian world order. Fundamentalist Confucianism in the process
became the ‘primary approach to ethics and social order’.94 The passages about the
inferiority of Yi and Di peoples and about expelling bad men from the ‘Middle
Kingdom’ mentioned by Z in the Register in 1828 were the kind of Confucian texts
that the fundamentalist scholar-elite would interpret literally and follow as a doctrine.
On foreign relations, the key idea of this school was to maintain the distinction
between the cultured world—China proper—and the rest. It was not so much that
the outside world centred on the ‘middle kingdom’, as the tributary scholarship would
argue. But rather the outside world constituted a threat to the order of the cultured
world, and these threatening elements were to be kept out. If they must come into the
system, they were expected to be assimilated or quarantined to contain their impact,
as in the Canton system. Yi described these ‘strangers’, who were seen as unruly and
not to be governed in the cultured way, meaning the Confucian way.
Su Shi’s passage that was quoted several times by the British merchants of Canton
spelled out this principle. It came from Su’s well-known essay, ‘On the King Does Not
Govern the Uncultured’ (Wangzhe buzhi yidi lun), which most scholar-elites would
have studied. Su’s yidi were no longer the tribal peoples of the Confucian time. The
two words formed a compound expressing a concept that would be best understood
as ‘the uncultured’. The British were seen as another group of the uncultured, the
same as the other peoples surrounding China proper, and this explains why the
British were named the same as them, as yi or sometimes as fan.
Su’s idea buzhi (not to govern [in the cultured ways]) from the essay was a succinct
summary of the neo-Confucian ideas of maintaining distinctions between the culture
and the uncultured—especially for the ritualistic sub-school. This was the context
when Governor-General Deng came to speak in 1837 the sentence much debated
among the British merchants of Canton: ‘The strangers were born and raised outside
China.’ Because the foreign opium traders were not educated in the Confucian way,
they did not know the proper moral behaviour and thus were expelled from the realm
of the cultured world. There was, in actuality, in this case a degree of condescending
benevolence in expelling rather than beheading them—as Chinese opium traders
were punished. The British opium traders were seen as naïve in involving themselves
in the dishonoured trade and therefore punished differently and leniently.
Both Deng and Commissioner Lin belonged to the neo-Confucian school and
were both sent into exile in Xinjiang during the First Opium War. Deng had been in
charge of the defence of Fujian Province and Lin of the defence of Canton in 1840,
when the British expedition force attacked the coastal cities. The Daoguang emperor
was persuaded by the pacific faction in the court, who had earlier advocated opium
legalization and now advocated negotiation with the British, that Lin had failed in the
opium prohibition policy and caused a British invasion. Lin was dismissed and Deng
fell, too, for supporting Lin.
In the frontier land in Xinjiang, in the cold winter of early 1843, Deng invited Lin
and others to celebrate Su Shi’s birthday by commemorating the poet.95 The celebra-
tion was significant for it took place just after the Qing were defeated by the British
and signed the Treaty of Nanking. Through the commemoration, the exiled scholar-
officials seemed to be lamenting how low the dynasty had fallen: the distinction
between the cultured and the uncultured was broken. The scholar-officials believed
that the British were not brought up in the Confucian way; thus, they did not belong
to the ‘cultured world’. Engagement with them was beneath the Qing.
While they were called by scholar-officials yi, British merchants in the 1830s
Canton lived a gentleman-like life with as much material comfort as the situation
allows—another context to read the ‘barbarian’ designation. In 1834 there were
around 800 Chinese servants in the Thirteen Factories, looking after fewer than
200 foreigners.96 Whenever the gentlemen went out for a picnic on the island opposite
their Thirteen Factories or took dinner in the grand hall under chandeliers, Chinese
servants were at their call.97 Some of the servants intended to learn Pidgin English,
business English, in order to find a job in the lucrative Canton foreign trade. The
British, together with the Americans, invited Chinese merchants to come to dine
using forks and knives, which was a reverse joke about chopsticks in the Europeans’
hands when they attended Chinese dinners in the garden compounds of the Hong
merchants.98 The inventory list of luxurious items for the British merchants’ consump-
tion is a long one, including French wines, Scotch whiskey, gin, sherry, champagne,
port, hock, tokay and cherry brandy, cashmeres, fine shirts, gentlemen’s gloves, drab
hats, silver dinnerware, a piano, and so forth. They even brought English cows to
supply fresh milk for afternoon tea.99 They formed the Canton Regatta Club and in
the off-trade season would hold gentlemanly boat races. These were such big events
that the whole community was there and the results would be published in the Canton
Register, Chinese Courier, and Canton Press.100 They also held horse races in Macao,
enjoyed equally by the English gentlemen and the Chinese. The East India Company
superintendent Charles Marjoribanks himself participated as a rider.101 They enjoyed
shooting, ballroom parties, Italian operas, and other high-society entertainment in
Canton and Macao.
But it was not by material wealth and worldly gains that the scholar-officials
judged the British. The lack of a Confucian manner was the problem. In the context of
a materially luxurious life in Canton, the designation yi spoke volumes about the cul-
tural values that were spelled out by the Confucian scholars. When it was translated
into English as ‘barbarian’, the merchants and missionaries understood the word yi
from the perspectives of national strength, material advancement, Christian values,
and the Enlightenment as Gützlaff ’s works and the confrontation of 1832 revealed.
The two sides were again talking to each other from two parallel worlds. Through his
Chinese narrators Gützlaff did tell the Chinese that Europeans practised Confucian
moralities, but that was untrue and fell on deaf ears. He also told the Chinese that the
British led a materially rich life, but that missed the point.
Yi, as the Warlike party of Canton rightly perceived, was a sign of rejection. The
Warlike party, in reinterpreting yi as ‘stranger’ in 1837, came close to realizing that
what Qing China wanted was to lock the British out using the Canton system. Once
the one-port system was established, the Confucian ideology gained a position in
the Canton port. European arrivals could only be named as yi to be kept out. In the
word yi, the ideal Confucian world order and dynastic state security—two mutually
reinforcing and potent ideas operating in the system—converged. The yi designation
became another layer of the Qing’s soft boarder.
The rendering of yi as ‘stranger’ did not stop the Warlike party from advocating war
or stop the circulation of the name ‘barbarian’. In London, the idea that the Chinese
considered the British ‘barbarians’ was flagged in rallying support for war and pro-
viding justification after war was declared.102 From the Canton British merchants’ and
Protestant missionaries’ perspective, in their desire for wider access to China and in
the discourse of ‘progressive civilization’, they saw that China was in isolation and in
want of ‘civilization’—another type of ‘uncultured’.
Both sides saw each other as ‘uncultured’. To the Qing the ‘uncultured’ were to be
locked out of China proper, as the Canton system purported to function, especially in
its later development during the early nineteenth century. The Warlike party, in con-
trast, were willingly to start a war to combat the Chinese idea as manifested in the
word yi and to spread what they believed to be cultured: Western civilization.
The word yi was not a neutral designation which belonged to words such as
‘outside’ (wai), ‘afar’ ( yuan), and ‘western ocean’ (xiyang) used before the 1750s and
after 1858. When yi was used to form the term manyi (barbarians), it had connotations
of contempt. In some official documents, the word yi actually meant manyi; Qing offi-
cials were not immune to discrimination against others. In official documents of the
Qing period, as a naming practice yi was never far away from discrimination against
the British, and this kept the merchants in Canton and some Sinologists of London
puzzled and guessing.
6
Reasoning Britain into a War
The year 1834 was not one of great change to the Sino-British relations, as scholars of
the Opium War wanted it to be.1 When Napier went to Canton that year as the super-
intendent of trade to take over control from the East India Company, both Foreign
Secretary Palmerston and Prime Minister Lord Grey (Charles, 1764–1845) instructed
him to be acquiescent, meaning not to challenge the status quo of the Canton system.
Napier did not follow this instruction, although his three successors did.2 Napier’s
challenge to the Canton authorities to change the mode of interaction was a deviation
from government policy. If Napier Affair had any impact, it was in the Warlike party’s
first war lobbying in 1835. But the campaign failed to convince the British govern-
ment. During the five years after the end of the EIC’s monopoly, the British state did
not pay much attention to the China trade. Neither did they care much about China’s
treatment of Napier and his untimely death. The ministers started to think differently
about the China trade issue only after the opium crisis of 1839.
But the 1839 opium crisis would have been just another instance of hostility,
like the 1784 Lady Hughes incident, the 1808 Drury occupation of Macao, the 1820
anti-opium campaign, and the 1830 Mrs Baynes incident.3 The brief exchange of
fire, in September and November 1839, between Qing water forces and the British
navy under the superintendent should have been another skirmish—likened to the
incidents of 1784 and 1808. But this standoff and skirmish during the opium crisis
of 1839 produced war. It was not the opium confiscation crisis per se that mattered
much to the Whitehall ministers in taking the war decision. The expedition force was
sent and thus the war declared, largely thanks to the Warlike party’s lobbying, and
in addition to it—as Melancon’s study has shown—because of the domestic political
crisis faced by the Whig government.
This chapter traces how the argument for war developed in Canton’s maritime
public sphere became the policy of Whitehall and the reality of the First Opium War.
The idea of obtaining a port of their own in the China trade that would be fulfilled in
making Hong Kong a British colony was an important motive for war lobbying. Their
confidence in winning the war was boosted by the intelligence of the Qing’s military
weakness. On top of these, the Warlike party’s conviction in British state’s obligation
in stepping in to change trade conditions underpinned their aggressive actions of lob-
bying in London. The Warlike party was the major force behind the change in British
policy—to wage a war against China.
The right of petition
The Warlike party believed that they had the right to petition both the Chinese and
British governments to get the trade conditions and, by extension, the Chinese-British
relations they wanted. They saw petitioning as their birthright. This spirit coloured
their engagement with the Chinese and their lobbying in London for war in 1835 and
then again in 1839.
As early as 1778, the British private merchants of Canton had a taste of petitioning
their governments in India and in Britain to come to their aid in the China trade.
Throughout the 1770s, the merchants, attracted by the high interest rates at Canton,
lent money to the capital-starved Hong merchants. The total sum owed by Chinese
merchants to the British merchants amounted to nearly one million sterling, a big
portion of which was inflation from compound interest of either 18 or 20 per cent per
annum. In the later years of the decade, some merchants’ loans went unpaid when
several of the Hongs went bankrupt. The private merchants filed a petition in London
asking the government to send an embassy to Peking to obtain redress. The govern-
ment refused the request but referred the case to the EIC. The Court of Directors of
the EIC, in turn, asked the supercargoes in Canton to assist the private merchants
because, they reasoned, the ‘sum as a national object they cannot hesitate a moment
to facilitate the business by every means in their power’.4
In the meantime, since part of the money loaned was originally gathered by private
merchants from India settlements, the creditors of Madras petitioned Madras rear
admiral Sir Edward Vernon, who, in response, sent Captain John Alexander Panton
aboard the frigate Sea Horse to deliver a letter ‘demanding justice be done to His
Majesty’s oppressed Subjects’. The letter duly reached the Canton authorities, who,
in turn, informed the Qianlong emperor. The emperor ordered the debt to be repaid
to the foreigners.5 With this imperial pressure, the debt problem was solved by the
establishment of the gild house fund in 1782, which obligated Hong merchants to
contribute a percentage of their profits to pay off the money owed, making debt their
collective responsibility. This way of solving debt issues became a convention until the
end of the Canton system.6
It is notable that, in the instruction to Canton, the debt was seen by the Court
of Directors as ‘a national object’, while Vernon in Madras saw his action as aiding
‘His Majesty’s oppressed Subjects’. The relationship between the state and British mer-
chants clearly expressed that the state—or the semi-official EIC—could be mobilized
Reasoning Britain into a War 105
to relieve the merchants’ distress by quoting nationalistic discourse. On top of British

national discourse, the idea at work was that Britain was a nation of trade.
Indian Parsees could also petition the British colonial government to come to their
rescue. Parsees played a major role in the importing of cotton from India to China,
the sales of which in China hit a low in 1819. The price somewhat recovered in the
late 1820s. However, in May 1829, when the cotton trade was again declining, forty-
four Parsees in Bombay ‘being indeed nearly all the native wealth and commercial
influence of that side of India’ petitioned the governor of Bombay. The British Indian
government, in answering, dispatched a letter to the Canton authorities and put pres-
sure on the Select Committee of the EIC to negotiate with the Qing officials for a
solution.7
Meanwhile, the white British private merchants of Canton, who were also involved
in cotton trade, took the matter directly to the Canton authorities. Five companies—
including Dent & Co. and Magniac & Co. (the firm inherited by Jardine, Matheson &
Co.)—and eleven individuals signed the petition. Not only complaining about cotton
trade, the petitioners took this opportunity to pour out their grievances regarding
what they believed played a role in the declining cotton trade: the number of Hong
merchants was dwindling, port duty was unfair, and extortion was hurting the trade.
Thirteen days later, Governor-General Li Hongbing (1826–1832) replied, blaming
bad elements among the Chinese for stirring up the petitioners. He then dismissed
the complaints as insubstantial.8 This added to the discontent of early 1830 along
with the quay incident, the Mrs Baynes incident, and the death of the jailed Hong
merchant Xie Wu.9
With sentiment against the Canton authorities running high, in December 1830,
the British merchants in Canton filed a petition with Parliament, asking Britain to
step in to reach a trading agreement with China. Forty-seven British subjects signed
the letter, including seven Parsees. Repeating the grievances that the white British
merchants and the Parsees had each presented to the Canton authorities and the
British India government, the petition stated that the ‘successful termination of the
Burmese war and the approximation of British dominion in India to the confines of
China are well known in this country’ and argued that this knowledge would make
the Chinese take the British seriously.10 (This in fact alarmed the Qing to further
constrain British trade.) They also pointed out that, once Vernon’s letter of 1778 had
been received by the Canton authorities, the debt issues were resolved. The petition-
ers expected that Qing China would readily receive a protest from the British gov-
ernment with ‘deference’.11 Given the situation in Canton, this statement was either
overconfident or a deliberate misrepresentation for the sake of enticing governmental
intervention.
Less than six months after the petition was sent, the situation in Canton was
further stirred up by the portrait incident of May 1831 when Governor Zhu turned
the back of his chair towards a portrait of King George IV, as explained in Chapters 1
and 2. A petition was then sent to the British India government in Calcutta asking
for assistance in obtaining redress for this ‘insult’ to the king’s portrait. In response
to the petition, the governor-general of India, Lord William Bentinck (1774–1839),
requested Rear Admiral Sir Edward W. C. R. Owen to send a ‘vessel of war’ carrying
a letter to Canton, and the HMS Challenger captained by Charles Howe Freemantle
(1800–1869) was sent. This is what prompted the Register’s article arguing that the
situation in China ‘as history it will not be believed’—quoted at the opening
of the introduction to this book.12
Upon arrival at Canton, Freemantle requested permission to deliver the letter to
the governor-general of Canton but was refused. After some negotiation, the letter
was delivered and arrived at Governor-General Li Hongbing’s office. He replied,
again rejecting all the British claims, again blaming Hong merchants for the mess,
and did not address the question of the portrait. Captain Freemantle was asked to
leave, which he did—given the hostility and impasse.13
Then the response from Parliament to the December 1830 petition arrived in
Canton in September 1832: Britain was not to intervene. The Court of Directors of
the EIC in London was behind the rejection because they were concerned that inter-
vention in Canton might jeopardize the smooth flow of tea from China to London.14
The Canton British merchants would not easily give up the attempts to subject
China to the relations they wanted. They believed justice was on their side. In the
years after the end of the EIC, they were more eager than ever in asserting what they
saw as their right of petition.15 This spirit of petitioning the British government would
turn into a war petition in 1835 and, again, in 1839.
A minor incident in 1835 illustrates their attitude and dealings with the Canton
authorities. On 7 January 1835 at twelve o’clock, a white British merchant came to
a Canton city gate and attempted to present a petition on a matter (not recorded)
that was deemed too trivial by the Hong merchants to be presented to the governor-
general. The petitioner was admitted from the outer gate but was denied entrance
beyond the inner gate, so between the two gates he sat. A group of foreign traders
came in the afternoon to support him and left him with a supply of ‘food and cloth-
ing; for the weather was cold’.16 Six Hong merchants and two linguists attempted
several times to snatch the British merchant’s petition from his hand or tried to put
their hands on the petition before it could be received by the two lower military offi-
cials who came to oversee the matter, but to no avail. The Hong merchants wanted
the British merchant to conform to the proper petitioning procedure as the Canton
system stipulated, which was to have the petition go through their hands before
reaching the Canton authorities.
Towards nine o’clock the two military officials who had left returned and were
again ready ‘to receive the petition from the hands of the petitioner’. The British
merchant told them that ‘the mendacity of their country was now so notorious that he
required witness of his own nation to be present’.17 Two of his countrymen were sent
for and arrived. When the petition was about to be handed over, the Hong merchant
Mowqua again ‘attempted to touch the petition with his finger . . . at this insidious
motion the petition was instantly withdrawn and Mowqua was informed that his
scheme had failed’. Finally, one of the military officials ‘extended his three fingers and
received the petition’. An ‘answer from the viceroy [Governor-General Lu Kun] was
sent to the petitioner just 30 hours after his departure from the city gate; and this
answer promised redress of the wrong complained against’.18
The private merchants had the mentality of fighting for what they wanted. The
nature of the trade shaped their personality, and this differed significantly from the
EIC staff in Canton, who behaved like civil servants thinking in institutional modes
and did not take the matter into their own hands as much as the private merchants
had. This spirit of believing in ‘the right of petition’ was suffered by both the Qing and
British governments. As a community, they were a force to be reckoned with.
An island of one’s own
There was one thing the British merchants of Canton—both the EIC staff and the
private—wanted: an island, or a port, of their own on the China coast where they
could conduct trade with the Chinese. The British talked about it in their travel jour-
nals, diaries, and newspapers; requested it in the two embassies; and then attempted
to steal the Portuguese settlement of Macao in 1808, just like the Dutch had tried in
1622, without success. But, finally, after the war the British had an island of their own
to conduct trade and to govern—Hong Kong. Even better, four additional ports were
opened to trade.
Taking possession of an island, or port, was the norm of European maritime trade
in the East before the mid-nineteenth century. The origin of this mode of opera-
tion came from the Mediterranean maritime world, where port cities or states such
as Genoa and Venice thrived. Responsible for bringing this practice to the East, the
Portuguese had ports, such as Goa, Colombo, Malacca, and Macao, in a chain of
coastal foothold possessions in the Asian maritime world.19 Spanish Manila and
Dutch Batavia were operated, too, in this manner.20 The fate of Malacca said all; it was
first established around 1400 by Malay sultan Parameswara (1344–1414) at a strategic
spot for trading between the Indian and Pacific oceans. The Portuguese grabbed it as
their own entrepôt in 1511; then the port fell to the Dutch in 1641 when they became
the dominant maritime trader of Asia. As they reigned supreme in Asian waters, the
British took control of Malacca in 1824.21
To own a port within China or close to China was another important competition
in the European rivalries. Being the first to arrive in China, the Portuguese expressed
to Ming officials, as early as 1521, their desire for a trading post and obtained Macao
in 1557.22 The Spanish, in 1575, first made their proposal to Ming officials, and in 1598
they were granted El Piñal in the Canton estuary. But, before long, the Portuguese
spoiled the Spaniards’ gain with the help of the Jesuits in the Ming court. A few years
later, the Portuguese of Macao also successfully destroyed the promising prospects of
the Dutch being given a port in the Canton estuary by the Ming.23
The Spanish established two trading posts in the 1620s, in today’s Danshui and
Jilong in northern Formosa (Taiwan)—but abandoned Danshui in 1638 because of
bad relations with the aboriginal communities there. The Dutch, in 1622, tried to
fortify the Pescadores (Penghu) near Formosa but were driven away by Ming water
forces. In 1633, they attempted to make Gulangyu (off Amoy) a trading base, without
success.24 The Dutch finally obtained a trading port in the China trade in 1646 by
driving out the Spanish who had remained in Jilong, Formosa. They then established
Fort Zeelandia as a trading foothold in southern Formosa. But before they had prop-
erly settled, the Dutch were driven out of Formosa altogether in 1662 by the Ming
loyalist Koxinga (Zheng Chenggong, 1624–1662).25
By the time the British dominated the Eastern maritime world in the late eight-
eenth century, they had already established Bombay and other minor ports and
had expanded into inland India from the coastal trading footholds of Fort William
(Calcutta) and Fort St George (Madras). They too wanted a trading island or a port of
their own in or close to China. The instruction of 1787 to the ill-fated special envoy to
China, Charles Cathcart, who died just off Malaya, asked him to obtain ‘a small tract
of Ground, or detached Island’, from the Qing court as a depot where British mer-
chants could live and trade.26 The same task was taken on by Lord Macartney in his
1793 journey and was not achieved.27
To the British, an island of their own meant more than attracting Chinese mer-
chants, goods, and labourers, as Macao, Manila, and Batavia had. It meant the British
would have jurisdiction over British subjects to prevent any trouble, like the Lady
Hughes incident where an English gunner was sentenced to death after he acciden-
tally killed two Chinese nationals. Because these incidents caused many troubles and
disrupted the smooth operation of trade, the EIC staff came to believe their lives were
in imminent danger and trade would have to be abandoned sooner or later.28
Some British merchants had their eye on Macao, where they stayed in the off-trade
season. One staff member of the EIC in 1779 believed Macao was neglected by the
Portuguese and thus the British had a role to play:
A place so little valued might perhaps be easily procured form the Court of
Lisbon, and should it ever fall into the hands of an enterprising People, who knew
how to extend all its advantages; we think it would rise to a State of Splendor,
never yet equalled by any Port in the East.29
There were opportunities to obtain Macao in 1802 and 1808. In the summer of 1801,
the French and the Portuguese signed a treaty that would close all the Portuguese ports
to the British. Upon learning this and afraid the British merchants in Canton would
not have access to Macao, the British governor-general of India, Richard Wellesley
(1760–1842), sent a naval force to Chinese waters in March 1802. The Portuguese
refused their landing and informed Chinese officials of the British presence, greatly
alarming them. The news soon reached the Beijing court, where two Portuguese mis-
sionaries warned the emperor that the British intended to occupy Macao, quoting
as evidence the request for an island during the Macartney embassy. However, the
British troops withdrew, ending the crisis. The reasons for the withdrawal were
twofold: one was the hostility of the Portuguese and the Chinese; the other was that
news had reached Canton that the British-French rivalry, which had flared up, had
now eased, removing the threat to the British use of Macao.30
The EIC’s Canton staff, led by John William Roberts, were ready to take Macao in
1808. The Select Committee claimed that they had received creditable intelligence
that the French were coming to place ‘Macao in a more respectable state of defence’
and asked for help from governor-general of India Lord Minto (Gilbert Elliot,
1751–1814), who in response sent Admiral William O’Bryen Drury (d. 1811) with a
naval force.31 The troops peacefully landed in Macao. Chinese officials, upon learning
this, stopped British trade in Canton, withdrew Chinese servants from the Thirteen
Factories, and restricted provisions for the British merchants. They then gathered
soldiers, ready to expel the British by force. The Select Committee urged the admiral
to take this opportunity to make Macao a British port. They calculated that once the
occupation became a fait accompli, the Chinese would have to accept British control
of Macao. But the admiral refused, for this was not his mission. He did not even react
when the Chinese fired upon the boat in which he was travelling in from Macao to
Canton. Bowing to the strong pressure from the Canton authorities for the troops
to leave, the admiral sailed away just before Christmas.32 The wishes of the EIC staff
to have an island of their own in the China trade were unfulfilled.
The record of Drury’s expedition was published in 1831 in the Register. A reader
with the pseudonym A Breakfaster with Drury was dismayed to learn that the
admiral did not return fire when his armed boats were fired upon by the Chinese. He
disbelieved that a British navy admiral would be so cowardly and urged the editor
to research the archives in the English Factory to find out ‘the hidden cause of such
a cruel blow to the honour of the Navy from so brave a man as Admiral Drury’.33
In response, the Register published the transcription of an interview with Charles
Marjoribanks, a clerk in Canton in 1808. Marjoribanks confirmed that it was a missed
opportunity and expressed regret:
I think it is one of those lamentable occasions in which the English character

was exhibited to great disadvantage in China. A pagoda was built by the Chinese
upon the occasion, to commemorate the victory they had obtained over the
English admiral; they cannot afford to lose an opportunity of that sort.34
The British private merchants wanted to think that had Drury returned fire they
would have gained an island of their own and all the difficulties of the China trade
would have been solved, instead of suffering humiliation after humiliation. Even
more than being about trade and avoiding jurisdictional trouble, a port in China con-
trolled by the British addressed the idea of despotism. In the 1830 December petition
to Parliament, the merchants of Canton urged:
Unless through the direct intervention of His Majesty’s Government, in commu-

nication with the Court of Peking, the Petitioners feel that no material extension
of British commerce, or effectual amelioration of the humiliating condition of
British subjects in China can be expected; if unattainable by the course suggested,
the Petitioners indulge a hope that the Government of Great Britain, with the
sanction of the Legislature, will adopt a resolution worthy of the nation, and by
the acquisition of an insular possession near the coast of China, place British com-
merce in that remote quarter of the globe beyond the reach of the future despot-
ism and oppression.35
Trade, profits, justice, and the discourse of oriental despotism mingled. The presumed
suffering of British subjects under a despotic regime added another reason for the
British government to act. On this point, the Warlike party of the private merchants
differed from the EIC staff. The private merchants developed a discourse on China
that the EIC staff did not articulate—this was partly because, unlike the EIC, they did
not have direct access to the imperial state, and they had to rely on nationalistic and
civilizational discourse to mobilize the British state to come and solve their China
trade issue that they inherited from the EIC. The argument of putting British trade on
secure footing could move Britain to intervene as Britain saw itself as a nation of trade
and free trade discourse was on the rise, while employing the argument of despotism
gave the merchants a sense that justice was on their side.
The Warlike party did not just simply solicit governmental intervention but also
studied the coastal islands to see which would be most suitable for their trade—they
did their homework, which the EIC had not done. A long article published in the
Register in 1837 listed the advantages and disadvantages of eighteen islands along the
southern and eastern coasts. It concluded, ‘We consider Chusan to be the island best
fitted for a commercial mart’, because the ‘advantages of a centrical situation on the
coast, communicating with the very heart of China, of anchorages, harbours, fertility,
population, climate, are here all united; Ningpo, Hangchoo, Shanghae, and Japan are
distant only a few days’ sail’.36
Hong Kong was the second choice. ‘Hong Kong, particularly, has long drawn the
attention of foreigners, being a very eligible spot.’ It was second because Hong Kong’s
position was ‘almost in the south west corner of the empire. . . . But if ever a settlement
is to be founded in this corner, Hong Kong holds, perhaps the first place for this
purpose in the archipelago.’37
Not everyone in the British Canton community agreed that they should take pos-
session of an island or port. Lindsay, who advocated war in 1835 and again in 1840,
in his open letter to Palmerston in 1836, asked to have ‘the liberty of trade at two or
more of the northern ports’. He opposed ‘taking possession of the smallest island on
the coast’ because he believed that doing so would not be in the interests of ‘purely
commercial intercourse’ of the war.38 Thus, he adhered to the words he had spoken
to the Chinese on his 1832 coastal voyage aboard the Lord Amherst: the British were
by no means interested in occupying Chinese territories. To Lindsay, taking a port
or an island would do harm to the British reputation in China and would jeopard-
ize Britain’s trade. But Lindsay, like most members of the Warlike party, believed in
the justice of employing a war to force China to allow British trade in other ports
outside Canton and to put Britain’s China trade in a condition that they believe to
be justice.
After the Napier Affair, while the war lobbying was underway in London, an article
published in the Register in late 1835 argued that the five ports to be opened, in addi-
tion to Canton, were Ning-po (Ningbo), Shang-hae (Shanghai), Fuh-choo (Fuzhou),
Amoy (Xiamen), and Hang-choo (Hangzhou).39 The private merchants found a good
reason for this particular list: tea and silk, the two major exports, were produced in
the regions close to the five ports. Opening these ports to British trade would reduce
costs of transportation and greatly increase profits. It was no coincidence that the
additional ports opened after the First Opium War were exactly the ones on this list,
except for Hangzhou. The decision of which ports were to be used for British trade
had been made by the merchants in Canton years before the war started. After all, the
private merchants together with some Protestant missionaries living under their aegis
were the only group of Europeans who had adequate knowledge and the first-hand
experience of these Chinese ports.
It is noteworthy that two years prior to the establishment of the Canton one-port
system in 1757, precisely the same argument about Ningbo’s proximity to the tea
and silk production regions had been put forward in Chinese memorials and edicts.
However, at that time, the Canton lobby declared the port’s location to be an unfair
advantage, which would damage Canton’s established livelihood. Thus, Ningbo had
to increase its port duty, taking away its perceived unfair advantage.40
A similarity existed between the Canton lobby that was behind the Ningbo tax
increase and the British war campaigners. The Canton lobby used their court influ-
ence to obtain the right of monopoly from the Qianlong court, and the Warlike party
used the public campaign and lobbying for a war to achieve their goal of accessing
the eastern ports. While the Canton lobby brought maritime coastal defence to the
centre of Qing foreign trade policy making, British private merchants fashioned the
discourse of an ‘insular China’ that must be opened up by British imperial power. The
context and end results were hugely different and the two interests even clashed, but
the profit motive of the Canton lobby and the Warlike party was the same.
On the eve of the war, Captain Charles Elliot still believed in taking Macao as a
British possession. In May 1839, Elliot told Palmerston, ‘A garrison of 1,000 good
troops, principally artillery, and a few sail of gun-boats, would place Macao in a
situation to cover the whole trade with this part of the empire.’41 James Matheson,
who was in China when the war broke out, favoured Formosa, but he was opposed
by his trading partner, William Jardine, who was then in London and preferred
taking Chusan Island. Jardine persuaded Palmerston ‘to instruct Elliot to occupy it’.42
Chusan’s port, Dinghai, was the very first port that the British expedition force landed
in and occupied. The military regime administered Chusan on and off for more than
five years, twice with the Prussian missionary turned official translator Gützlaff as its
magistrate.43 But Chusan in the end did not become the island of Britain’s own.
Hong Kong was the island where the British merchants ended up. They started set-
tling there during the war, and before the treaty was signed they had already started
building work.44 Even though Lindsay disagreed on taking possession of any island,
he did contribute to the choice of Hong Kong. In his report on the 1832 voyage to
the eastern coasts, he described Hong Kong as ‘in all points, both of facility of egress
and ingress, and in its perfectly land-locked situation, this harbour can hardly have a
superior in the world’.45
Britain started like other European nations wishing for a port of its own. But
Hong Kong was a different creation from Macao and other Asian ports controlled by
Europeans. As the idea of free trade became the dominant political economic theory,
the British, when they obtained Hong Kong, did not close it off as other Europeans
had done to their ports established in the East in the previous three centuries. Rather,
they made it a free port (though not fully) as their second experiment of free trade in
the East after Singapore.
From information to intelligence
The Warlike party of Canton not only envisioned a Chinese island and port to be
used for British trade—a major motive of lobbying for war—they also provided the
military intelligence and war strategy that played a crucial role in the decision to start
the war.
Commercial intelligence was an objective stated by Lindsay for the 1832 Lord
Amherst mission to the eastern coast:
The Principal object was to ascertain how far the Northern Ports of China might
be gradually opened to British Commerce; which of them was most eligible; and
to what extent the disposition of the natives and the local governments would be
favourable to it.46
This search for commercial intelligence became also a trip for gathering military
intelligence.47 During the voyage, the party diligently recorded the geographical
characteristics and military establishments of the ports they visited. In charge of the
survey and the drawing of coastal lines and ports was Captain John Rees, who was
said to be one the best captains of Jardine, Matheson & Co. and was experienced
in selling opium on trips along the eastern coast. His companion, Gützlaff, described
him thusly: ‘The commander, an able seaman and surveyor, was anxious to make
accurate charts of the different harbours.’48 In complementing the charts, Gützlaff and
Lindsay in their reports sketched the military defences they had encountered. For
example, on the island of Nan Gaou (Nan’ao 南澳), they appeared to have an ‘impe-
rial army-list’, which they compared to what they saw:
This island, which is half in Canton, and half in Fokien province, is the second
naval station of Canton. It is the residence of a tsung-ping-kwan [zongbingguan],
or admiral, who has a nominal force of 5,237 men under his command, of which
4,078 belong to Canton, and 1,159 to Fokien. The existence however of these
troops, excepting in the imperial army-list, is very doubtful. The defences of the
station, as we saw it, consisted in seven or eight small junks, in appearance resem-
bling the smaller class of Fokien trading vessels, and in all respects very inferior
to those of Canton. On the island, at the entrance of the bay, are two forts, the
upper one mounting eight, the lower six guns: but, as is invariably the case in
Chinese fortifications, they are both commanded by heights immediately behind
them; up the bay there is another small fort without any guns.49
The deteriorating status of the Qing’s costal defence was obvious to their eyes. Even
worse was the troops of about 500 men they saw assembled along the river near
Shanghai city as the Lord Amherst approached:
Most of them had no arms, but a sword and wicker shield, the sword of the most
imperfect description, indeed nothing else than a flat bar of iron; the firelocks
were generally in a filthy state, and almost corroded with rust: indeed the result
of our inspection of his Imperial Majesty’s forces at Shanghae, convinced me
that 50 resolute and well-disciplined men, or even a smaller number, would have
routed a larger force than we saw there assembled.50
When he commented that 50 British soldiers were able to take on more than 500 Qing
soldiers, Lindsay clearly had military intelligence in mind. Even as they assessed the
Chinese soldiers, their surveying exercise was watched in turn by the Qing officials
who came into contact with them. One Ma challenged Lindsay that the British did
not come for trade as they repeatedly claimed ‘but to gain information’.51 In reply,
Ma was taken down to the hold to see the bales of cloth and wool that the ship carried.
Ma was not convinced and later told Lindsay:
We are afraid of you; you are too clever for us. For instance, no sooner does a ship
of yours arrive, then out go your boats in all directions, you sound, you make
charts, and in a week know the whole place as well as we do.52
Ma would be proved to be right in his observation of British activities along the

eastern coast. During the 1835 media campaign for war, less than three years later,
Lindsay turned his military information into war arguments. His open letter to
Palmerston stated, ‘The first method which I should suggest, is by a direct armed
interference to demand redress for past injuries, and security for the future.’53 He tried
to convince Palmerston that ‘a comparatively small naval force would do all that was
requisite’ and elaborated on the composition of such a force:
An amply adequate force to compel submission would consist of one line-of-

battle ship, two large frigates, six corvettes, and three or four armed steamers,
having on board a land force of about six hundred men, chiefly artillery, in order
to protect any land operation which might be necessary. The greater portion of
this force is already in India, and might be made available with but little expense.
For instance, suppose his Majesty’s naval force to contribute
Men
1 Seventy-four gunship 500
1 Large frigate 300
2 Small ditto 320
INDIAN NAVY:--
2 Corvettes 300
2 Armed steamers 200
CALCUTTA:--
1 Armed steamer 100
FORCE REQUIRED FROM HOME:--

1 Large frigate 300
2 Small ditto 320
Land Force 600
Total 2940
The total numerical amount of this force would not exceed 3,000 men; and
inadequate as such must appear, and would certainly be, were it to go to China
with objects of aggrandisement, intending to subdue and take possession of any
portion of the country, yet I have no doubt but it would be amply sufficient to
carry into effect every object we ought to have in view.54
The number given by Lindsay in the open letter was not random but an estimation
based on what he had known and witnessed: the Chinese coastal defences, the con-
dition of the Chinese troops, and the weaponry they carried. Strikingly, Lindsay’s
numbers were not significantly different from the first dispatch of the expedition
force that gathered in Singapore in June 1840, which consisted of sixteen ships of war,
four armed steamers, one troopship, and twenty-seven transports (small boats), with
4,000 troops.55
But these numbers were far short of the total number that was deployed by the end
of the war: about 5,300 British troops and nearly 7,000 Indian troops, plus seamen
and marines, making the total to upwards of 19,000 troops. The warships in Chinese
waters on 1 September 1842—including steamers, hospital ships, and surveying
vessels—numbered thirty-seven.56
Lindsay’s estimation was much better than the 1834 December war petition,
which asked for only ‘two frigates, and three or four armed vessels of light draft,
together with a steam vessel, all fully manned’.57 The exact military numbers were not
the point. The key message was that the war with China could be easily won. This was
an attractive fact to the politicians in London in late 1839, at a time when they were
facing party political crisis.
In 1830s Canton, not only did military intelligence and the idea of taking posses-
sion of an island become established, the infamous ‘Jardine plan’ was also formed—
years before the 1839 decision of the British government to go to war. In the wake
of the Napier Affair, dismayed, outraged, and frustrated, the Warlike party genuinely
believed the death of Napier and the perceived Chinese insult best afforded fodder for
a war campaign that would move the British government into action. While the lob-
bying for war was taking place in London, the Register in Canton published an outline
of a war plan in the late spring of 1835. It asked for a British envoy to be appointed in
charge of the expedition and then,
that granted, let him rendezvous his strength off the mouth of this river [Canton],
take on board your interpreters, fresh provisions and water (in large quantities),
and any native pilots, or charts the zeal of your countrymen may furnish you
with. So supplied make for Amoy; let all the fleet anchor in shelter inside the
bank, but let the line-of battle ship—say the Caledonia of 120 guns—piloted by
the steamer, let the envoy, receive on her deck a receipt for a letter from William
of England to the emperor of China, demanding redress for the insults and inju-
ries done to her honor through Lord Napier, and this receipt from the highest
mandarin the envoy must insist on, and if the receipt is not got he is to proceed
to bombard the town till got.
I suppose the receipt to be granted and he sails away, letting it be in writing
understood that he goes to meet an accredited servant of rank of the emperor’s,
to settle, without bloodshed, his claims at Teen-sing [Tianjin], or that point of
water he consider nearest to Peking.
This operation should be repeated in Lat. 80 off Ningpo, only so changed
that the fleet goes outside the islands. A frigate, with the envoy on board, and a
steamer going to Choo-san.
Once more off Nanking!—And as soon as the gulph of Pe-che-le (shallow
water) is approached, a safe anchorage for frigates and line-of-battle ships should
be chosen, and the envoy, in a vessel of small draft of water towed by the steamer,
should proceed to the mouth of the small estuary distant about 12 miles from
Peking, where another copy of the letter to the emperor should be sent to the
gates of Peking, in the care of an officer, attended by Mr. Gützlaff, and a small
select guard of honor, and intimation in writing given that the envoy demands
the presence of a man of rank to hear our complaints.
If redress is granted, a specific demand should be made for the destruction
of the Bogue forts for the insult by them offered to our flag and that destruction
should take place in presence of, and be certified by, a commander of a British
cruiser, and a distinct intimation given that, if this is not complied with, England
will herself undertake the work of demolition of those forts.
Loo [Lu Kun, the governor-general whom the Canton Press praised], as the
highest officer insulting Lord Napier, should be stipulation, be degraded.
These things complied with, and security given for the landing of a British
envoy, the after treaty on amicable terms is a matter of ease and certainty.
Suppose them not complied with, two or three stations in safe harbours by the
largest ships are to be selected along the coast, and the trade of China (perhaps
the largest coasting trade in the world) to be absolutely annihilated, taking such
other steps of annoyance as a good military judge may consider within his means
for intercepting the imperial revenue in its progress to Peking.58
This outline of a war plan in 1835 was not far from what happened between July 1840,
when the first expedition force arrived, and August 1842, when the treaty was signed.
The first port they called at was Canton, and the expedition did proceed to Amoy
to deliver the letter. But the port of Dinghai on Zhoushan (Choo-san) was the port
they first occupied. Ningbo was bombarded, but Nanjing was spared bombardment
because a ransom was paid. The British force did go to Teen-sing (Tianjin) to pres-
sure Peking (Beijing), blockade the Canton port, destroy the Bogue forts, and disrupt
the coastal trade. A treaty was demanded and signed as the plan stipulated. The ‘ample
reparation’ was carried out and the wishes fulfilled.
The author of the Register article was An Enemy to Half-Measure. The writing
style, the pseudonym, and the tone of the narrative suggest William Jardine, who
famously supplied Palmerston with the Jardine plan for war in late 1839.59 Besides
having access to published reports and books on China, such as Lindsay’s, translated
Chinese documents, and the English newspapers and journals of Canton, Jardine was
in regular correspondence with captains—such as Rees—of his own company’s ships
selling opium to the eastern coast. It was not improbable that he personally visited
the eastern coast aboard the opium-selling ships, even though there is no record of
this. As a result, Jardine and his partner, Matheson, possessed knowledge of China
superior to that of the other foreign traders in China. They were more capable than
any other British or European to draw up a war plan.
In sharp contrast to the Warlike party’s great confidence in subjugating the Qing
Empire, the politicians in London were apprehensive about taking on such a long
and unprecedented expedition. On 7 April 1840, the first day of the debate on the
China issue in the House of Commons—a debate that would last for three days—
Sir James Graham (1792–1861) reasoned:
It appeared that this would be no little war—nor one which, as some appeared
to think, would be terminated by a single campaign. It was one which would
be attended with circumstances no less formidable than the magnitude of the
interests which were at stake. If a war with China were to take place, it should be
remembered that it was a contest which should be carried on at the remotest part
of the habitable globe, and where the monsoons would materially interfere with
the communications which must be had with this country. It was to be carried on
at an immense distance from all our naval stations. The squadrons which should
be sent out would be exposed to various dangers. They would arrive at their des-
tination after a long voyage, pent up in crowded transports, and wearied with the
fatigues of an element which our land forces abhor, they would come to the scene
of action with abated Strength and diminished energies.60
Graham’s doubt was not just an opposition party’s political disagreement but a genuine
concern for a war between China and a European country—an action that had never
been taken and was not readily imaginable at the time. John Cam Hobhouse (1786–
1869), president of the Board of Control in the Melbourne cabinet, raised similar
concerns about taking on such an expedition just before the war decision was made.61
The Warlike party knew well that there would be great obstacles, such as Graham’s,
in convincing the politicians and the British public of this point. The article ‘War
with China’ published in 1835 in the Register argued, ‘At home I think this is so well
understood, that a fear of coming to a rupture with so great an empire will always be
the strongest argument against adopting vigorous measure.’62 To the Warlike party it
was laughable that the Chinese could have any chance to withstand British military
assault. The author asked:
Can’t China wage war with us, we would ask, at sea?—Has it a navy to cope with
ours?—Can it meet our well-disciplined troops in the field?—One must be little
acquainted with the state of this country to assert such things, and to foresee a
dreadful struggle in the event of a rupture. Let us, however, grant all this; can
China actually carry on war against us?—Can her fleets disturb our trade?—Her
armies invade our territories?—The only evil which can possibly be apprehended
from a rupture with China, is a temporary suspension of our trade, which of all
things is the least agreeable.63
Their superior knowledge of Chinese military capabilities in particular and on China

in general assured the Warlike party that the war was easily winnable and there was
nothing to lose in starting one. But the Warlike party needed to do more than just
articulate the Qing’s military weakness, the minimal forces needed from the British
government, the advantage of taking an island and opening other ports, and why
they deserved these. They needed politicians and other British merchants to add their
weight in persuasion, and the only way to achieve this was to meet face to face with
the political power holders in Whitehall to reason them into a war.
Lobbying for a war in London
In late 1834, James Matheson accompanied Napier’s widow back to Britain, carrying
with him the 1834 December war petition. With his wide connections, Matheson
managed to have the Manchester, Liverpool, and Glasgow merchants’ groups send
three additional petitions requesting the intervention of Britain in Chinese affairs—
in other words, war. This first war lobby would last from mid-1835 when Matheson
arrived back in Britain into the summer of 1836 when his lobby was rejected by
Palmerston.
Besides the suggestion that Napier had been insulted—and thus British national
honour had been tarnished by the Chinese—the three petitions of northern cities
emphasized the economic importance of the China trade, that is, British national
interests in trading with China. They reasoned that the China trade ‘affords employ-
ment for nearly one hundred thousand tons of British shipping’. The Chinese markets
were a market ‘for the manufactures of this country to a large and rapidly increasing
amount’ and ‘for the production of our Indian possessions . . . upward of three millions
sterling per annum, which enables our Indian subjects to consume our manufac-
tures on a largely increased scale’. Also ‘the value of raw silk imported from China,
exceeds one million of pounds sterling per annum, the want of which would greatly
paralyse a most important and growing manufacture’. And ‘that trade for which they
thus solicit protection, employs about six millions sterling of British capital . . . and
annual revenue of four to five millions sterling, on the single commodity of tea’. The
term ‘protection’—meaning British trade being protected by the British govern-
ment—was used again and again in the three petitions.64
Pamphleteering as a key method of public campaign at this time was employed
by the Warlike party. Matheson’s pamphlet The Present Position and Prospects of
the British Trade with China described the Chinese as ‘a people characterized by
a marvellous degree of imbecility, avarice, conceit, and obstinacy. . . . They conse-
quently exhibit a spirit of exclusiveness on a grand scale.’65 The pamphlet by naturalist
George Gordon, Address to the People of Great Britain, outlined the history of trade
in Canton and included many incidents, culminating in the Napier Affair, in which
the British merchants are seen to be oppressed by the Chinese: ‘Our sovereign himself
has, in the person of his representative at Canton, the late Lord Napier, been insulted
by the Chinese authorities, and the national flag has been fired upon from Chinese
batteries.’66 Another pamphlet, by James Goddard, favoured a strategy of deploying
warships to China as ‘tranquil and judicious visits’, to demonstrate the power of Britain
without actually using it.67 The missionary voice in the campaign was presented by
the pamphlet British Intercourse with China and put the Christian agenda alongside
trade by advocating that China be thrown ‘open to commerce, to civilization, and
Christianity’.68
In addition to petitioning and pamphleteering, the Warlike party used lobbying.
Lady Napier, in the role of grieving widow, wrote a letter to Palmerston, urging him
to meet Matheson and to exact retribution for her husband’s death and the insults
heaped upon him. Matheson also mobilized other personal networks, and he was
duly received by Palmerston.69
Their talk, however, was short; Palmerston was not ready to act. He asked
Matheson why the merchants were always squabbling with the Chinese govern-
ment. Matheson replied, because ‘we do not receive justice from their government’.
Palmerston retorted, ‘Ah! You are like the rest, do not know what justice is; you fancy
justice is getting it all your own way.’70 Palmerston was not at all interested in war
against China. He had not even read Napier’s dispatches nearly one year after Lord
Napier’s death.71
It may seem surprising that when a merchant representing the British trade inter-
ests who desperately wanted a war met with Palmerston—the name mostly associated
with gunboat diplomacy—Palmerston’s answer was negative. But, on the China issue,
the power centre in London at this time still had a ‘peaceful intention’.72 There was
little thought of waging a war against China. After all, the argument for war was initi-
ated and developed in Canton.
On the contrary, in the meeting with Matheson Palmerston praised Chinese offi-
cial papers that he believed were ‘most just and equitable and would make no bad
protocol’.73 Palmerston had in mind the image of China’s great bureaucratic system
presented by the Jesuits that was still the norm in understanding China in Britain. His
reaction was also likely a personal observation from reading the translated Chinese
documents that came with the dispatches from Canton and that were in the EIC files.
The paradigm shift in British knowledge of China from that of the Jesuits to that of
the Canton British merchants had just started in these years by precisely the cam-
paigns for war.
The Warlike party in Canton watched every movement in London. When they
read the king’s speech of 1836, which only mentioned France, the United States, and
Spain, they wished that China had been included. That would have meant a step
closer for the success of their war lobbying.74
Less than four years later, when the opium crisis escalated, Melbourne’s Whig
government was ready. The Bombay merchants had already sent a petition to the
British India government, because the opium confiscated was, in many cases, con-
signed to the Canton agency by them.75 The campaign in Britain for starting a war
was fierce. While they were confined in the Thirteen Factories during the opium
confiscation crisis, the British merchants had drawn up a plan to send Robert Inglis,
Hugh Hamilton Lindsay (who had come back to Canton as a private trader), and
Alexander Matheson to London with the purpose of lodging a petition. They would
meet with William Jardine, who had left Canton in January 1839 under pressure from
the Qing authorities during the anti-opium campaign.76
The East India and China Associations in Blackburn, Manchester, Liverpool,
Leeds, and London sent petitions to Palmerston reminding him of the importance of
the China trade as outlined in the 1835 petitions.77 The London merchants also sent a
petition in favour of war because they were invested in the opium trade.78 Manchester,
Liverpool, and Glasgow merchants sent in not only petitions but this time also a
deputation to see ‘H. M. Ministers, calling upon them to take measures for protecting
our commerce and our merchants in China’.79
Meanwhile, James Matheson, who stayed in Canton, did not sit and watch. Drawing
from his experience in the first campaign, he sent letters to Jardine telling him
‘to secure the services of some leading newspaper to advocate the cause’ and to engage
a literary man to draw up petitions.80 Jardine commissioned the then-best-selling
writer Samuel Warren to write a pamphlet, which was called The Opium Question,
to promote the war campaign.81 Lindsay, this time round, published a pamphlet entitled
Is the War with China a Just One? The missionary E. C. Bridgman famously said,
‘The time has come when China must bend or break.’82 At least four other pamphlets
advocating war, closely associated with the Warlike party, were published in London
in 1839 and 1840 in conjunction with their petitions being published in newspapers
and appended to pamphlets.83 The Warlike party was not going to miss this godsend
opportunity to bring the British government to a war that they had desired for years.
One of the partners of Jardine, Matheson & Co.’s London agents, John Abel
Smith (1802–1871), Member of Parliament for Chichester, introduced Jardine to
Palmerston, the Melbourne cabinet’s foreign secretary. Jardine supplied Palmerston
with maps of China and the ‘Jardine plan’.84 After the war was won and the treaty was
signed, Palmerston wrote to thank John Abel Smith:
To the assistance and information which you and Mr. Jardine so handsomely
afforded to us it was mainly owing that we were able give our affairs naval, mili-
tary and diplomatic, in China those detailed instructions which have led to these
satisfactory results.85
Palmerston’s letter to Smith was direct proof that Jardine had supplied Palmerston
with military intelligence, war strategy, and demands for treaty negotiation (‘diplo-
matic’). That Jardine and his fellow merchants of Canton had superior knowledge of
China and first-hand experience with the Chinese made the difference in winning
the war and signing the treaty. Jardine’s connections enabled him to bring the new
knowledge of China the Warlike party had acquired—including China’s military
weakness, geographical facts, economic structure, and political system, and a new
British perception of China—to the attention of the power centre. This new knowl-
edge centred on starting a war against China.
Glenn Melancon argued that Palmerston reached the war decision on his own
before he met Jardine. His arguments are not convincing. Melancon quoted as evidence
that Jardine met Palmerston on 27 September, nearly two month after Palmerston
had hinted the possibility of starting a war.86 The available records of this meeting
do not mean it was their first meeting. Besides, Jardine did not need to personally
convey the idea of war to Palmerston; his business partner MP John Abel Smith and
other Radical MPs could have worked in this capacity and were more likely to do this
before the cabinet’s final decision. Moreover, the cabinet took the war decision on
1 October, three days after Palmerston met Jardine. Above all, Palmerston specifically
thanked Jardine and clearly said the expedition was successful ‘mainly owing’ for the
information ‘so handsomely afforded’.87 Jardine played a key role, and the Warlike
party’s new knowledge of China developed and acquired in Canton was paramount
to the war decision. Jardine’s war lobby followed a same pattern that has been identi-
fied by John Brewer in which merchants in the frontier possessed superior knowledge
and they supplied it to the ministers. Lack of information on the government side
offered a perfect opportunity for lobbying a course.88 Jardine was actively searching
for an opportunity to put forward his story of China, and he utilized his time with the
Palmerston well.
Had Palmerston and the cabinet reached the war decision on their own, they
would not have dismissed Charles Elliot who, as the plenipotentiary, had asked so
little from China in the Convention of Chuanbi signed in January 1841. Elliot’s treaty
included these conditions: cession of Hong Kong to Britain, reopening of Canton, and
indemnity of 6 million silver dollars. These demands did not fully satisfy the Warlike
party. Elliot arrived in Canton with Napier in 1834 and became chief superintendent
in 1836. In five years in China he developed his own idea of Sino-British relations,
which was to engage China in friendly terms. This explains why he demanded so
little. His conception of China differed significantly from that of the Warlike party.
After Elliot was dismissed, Henry Pottinger (1789–1856) was sent for the second
phase of the war and further treaty negotiation. The result was the Treaty of Nanking,
which asked for four additional ports, 21 million dollars of indemnity, and new trade
conditions with low and fixed port duty. Had not the Warlike party supplied the list
of demands, the politicians would not have had the slightest clue what to ask for in
the treaty. Palmerston might have just ended the war with the Convention of Chuanbi
during Elliot’s term had not the Warlike party’s designs—what ended up as the Treaty
of Nanking—been a major force behind the war campaign.89
Neither are Melancon’s arguments that ministers went to war for the sake of British
‘national honour’ convincing.90 James Hevia has pointed out that the honour argu-
ment was questionable, as the ministers kept their war decisions secret until the war
began. If Britain had entered into the war for the sake of national honour, there would
have been no reason for the ministers to hide or talk about it only when under attack
by the opposition.91
Instead of taking the words at face value, ‘national honour’ should be seen as
government’s justification for war—a rhetoric they learned from the Canton British
merchants. The term ‘national honour’ that appeared in ministerial papers and min-
isters’ private documents came directly out of Warlike party’s arguments developed
in Canton. If the British political circle did believe Britain’s honour was at stake,
Britain would have gone to war in 1835 after Napier’s death, especially given that
Matheson came back to lobby for it. But war did not happen in 1835. Napier’s aris-
tocratic background and his connections in the power centre provided more reason
for a war of ‘honour’ when comparing him to the merchants in the 1839 opium con-
fiscation crisis. The merchants were often characterized as pirate-like smugglers who
possessed little national honour. In fact, the opium trade and subsequent war were
characterized by the British public as a ‘national sin’ and a ‘national crime’—the oppo-
site of national honour, as the next chapter shows. The Pacific party had revealed the
talk of national honour for what it was when they commented on the Warlike party’s
December 1834 war petition that it was ‘nothing more than a mercenary design on
the credulity of the Foreign secretary’.92
A war made in Canton
In 1835, the campaign for war had no impact; in 1839, domestic political circum-
stances in London happened to favour their case. Although Melancon’s main argu-
ments are not convincing, his secondary argument makes a great contribution to the
First Opium War historiography, as he contends that the reason for the Whig govern-
ment to wage the war lay in party politics, as mentioned in Chapter 1.93 Melancon
argued that the Whig government passed bills in early 1839 by narrow margins on
two votes on Britain’s domestic issues in February and five votes in May. As a result,
Prime Minister Lord Melbourne (William Lamb, 1779–1848) resigned. However, the
Tory opposition was unable to form a government, and the Whigs remained in power
as a weak government. In the summer of 1839, as the opium crisis was unfolding in
Canton, ‘the Liberal Tories joined the Ultra-Tories in their attacks on the Whigs’.94
The Whigs needed the Radicals’ support. If a war with China was what the Radicals
wanted, they would have it.95
In addition to a domestic political crisis, the British government was facing
other troubles: a diplomatic situation in Mexico with France, a Canadian rebellion,
a Jamaican rebellion, the Ireland problem, and Russian expansion in the Middle East.
A war with China had little risk of upsetting geopolitics vis-à-vis France or imperial
Russia, but would demonstrate the strength of the government and ward off opposi-
tion accusations that the government was weak.96
In a time of fiscal crisis—another major attack point of the Tories—the only
concern remaining was who would pay for the expedition. Charles Elliot had also
promised compensation to the British merchants in 1839 at the time of the opium
confiscation. China was to pay for both the war expedition and the opium confiscated.
And, with the intelligence that China was militarily weak, all doubts were laid to rest.
The decision was made.97 Instructions to prepare for war were sent out in secret to
India in Jardine’s fast new ship, the Mor, on her maiden voyage.98 The Warlike party,
by now, was closely working together with the Whig government.
With the domestic political crisis taking place in Britain, the opium confiscation of
1839 became not just another stand-off in Canton but the starting point of a military
confrontation. The crisis itself was not the origin of the war but the pretext. The war’s
origin lay in the Warlike party’s actions to force the Whig government to respond.
With circumstances in their favour, the Warlike party, with the help of the Radicals,
had the war they wanted.
As the war decision was made by the Melbourne cabinet, it did not go through
Parliament and was not announced to the nation until the summer of 1840. And
because they were in the dark about the decision, the opposition Tory party in
Parliament continued their attack on the Whig government in late 1839, asking to
see correspondence between the Foreign Office and Canton. They wanted to find
evidence of the government’s incompetence in letting the all-important China trade
slip into a regrettable state degenerating to the opium confiscation crisis. This would
make the government appear even weaker. After some delay, a 458-page document
was published in early 1840; the highly edited correspondence provided little ammu-
nition to the Tories.99
The war decision was leaked soon after instructions were sent to India, and
rumours of it persisted in early 1840. The Tories tabled a discussion on the issue on
7 April 1840. The question of whether Britain as a nation should attack China was
debated, but the debate was primarily an excuse for the Tories to motion yet another
vote of no confidence in a bid to bring down the precarious Whig government: the
vote was not about whether to have a war with China. At 262 in favour to 271 against,
the no confidence bid failed.100 The Radicals had reached a secret deal to support the
Whigs in exchange for the war.101
The Tories then stepped up their attack by bringing about an inquiry in the
House of Commons on the China question in May 1840, which they framed as ‘the
Grievances complained of in the Petitions of Merchants interested in the Trade with
China’.102 Unintended by the Tories, the inquiry provided a great opportunity for the
Warlike party. Their ideas, opinions, and perceptions, generated in Canton, would
be heard at the power centre not just by ministers but by politicians in general, and
further disseminated.103 In the hearing of the inquiry, William Jardine reiterated his
idea of a firm attitude and an assertive policy in dealing with Qing China. He denied
any harmful effect of smoking opium. Jardine then described the Chinese govern-
ment as ‘arbitrary’, implying that China was a despotic regime that did not deserve
civilized treatment.104 Robert Inglis, in recounting the merchants’ ordeal under house
arrest during the 1839 opium crisis, added an emotional dimension to the merchants’
claims that they had suffered at Chinese hands.105 The testimony substantiated the
Tories’ accusation that the government had neglected the China trade. The Whig
government suffered yet another injury from a Tory attack.
Going to war was not helping the Whigs. The Tories were equally ready to fulfil
the merchants’ demands. The Whig government eventually fell on 30 August 1841,
exactly a full year before the war was concluded and the treaty signed. The Tory
party led by Robert Peel (1788–1850) assumed power and continued the war policy,
which they had never seriously opposed.106 Henry Pottinger’s instruction about treaty
demands was unchanged, so that the war and treaty were concluded in the track set
by the Warlike party and Palmerston, who thus, even though out of power, penned
the thanks to Smith and Jardine.
The treaty that was signed mostly fulfilled the Canton Warlike party’s demands,
which had been spelled out in their newspapers of Canton, pamphlets published in
London, and private letters. The $21 million obtained as war indemnity consisted
of $12 million for the cost of the expedition, $6 million for the opium confiscated,
and $3 million for the debt the Hong owed to the British merchants (several Hong
merchants went bankrupt in the 1830s, resulting in huge debt to private merchants
unpaid). The Nanking Treaty itself, and the supplementary treaty and trade regula-
tions that followed, was designed specifically to break the one-port Canton system.
The island of Hong Kong came under British control—satisfying a desire of the
private merchants that could be traced back to the EIC day.
As was envisioned by the Warlike party, four additional ports on the eastern coast
were designated for extensive British trade. The Hong system that caused so much
trouble was abolished. The British could trade with whomever they wanted in the
five ports. Europeans, male and female, were allowed to live in the ports all year
round—a wish since Mrs Baynes’s days now fulfilled. The long-complained-about
trading issues of port tax, port duty, hiring of porters and water pilots, among other
things were negotiated and set on the terms the British merchants wanted.107
Extraterritoriality, which became an issue after the 1784 Lady Hughes incident,
was also settled. The British were explicitly granted rights of self-government, while
those cases involving both Chinese and foreigners were to be dealt with jointly by the
British and the Chinese in a mixed court.108 The war and the treaty finally achieved
what the Warlike party wanted all along. Even though the final decision to start a war
came from the British government in London, its roots were in Canton.
Before the Whig government fell, Palmerston wrote to British India governor-
general George Eden, the Earl of Auckland (1784–1849), spelling out how he saw the
ongoing war in China:
The rivalship of European manufacturers is fast excluding our productions from

the markets of Europe, and we must unremittingly endeavour to find in other
parts of the world new vents for the products of our industry. The world is large
enough and the wants of the human race ample enough to afford a demand for all
we can manufacture: but it is the business of government to open and secure the
roads for the merchants. . . . The new markets in China will at no distant period
give a most important extension to the range of our foreign commerce.109
With the most warlike statesman of the time articulating a positive relationship
between trade and politics, merchants trading in China were no longer alone seeking
the protection of the government; now, politicians were talking about seeking ways to
open markets and leading the way for the merchants. This attitude paved the way for
the Second Opium War, since Palmerston would come back to power as the prime
minister, leading his own cabinet to wage the second British war against China. As a
politician, Palmerston knew precisely where to find political allies and sources for his
political power.110
The changed attitude of Palmerston was remarkable. In 1835, a war against China
was unimaginable to him, but, in the circumstances of late 1839, the first-ever war
between China and a European country could be conceived, implemented, and
won. The new knowledge of China supplied by the merchants initiated in Canton
were primal to this development. Thanks to the lobbying of the Warlike party on the
China issue, the British government changed from a quiescent policy to a forward
policy. But the British public and the print media in Britain, as the next chapter will
show, did not let the war and changes in the British conception of China happen
without a fight.
7
The Regret of a Nation
Signing the Treaty of Nanking in 1842 concluded the war, opened Chinese ports to
British trade, and established Hong Kong as a British colony, making Plenipotentiary
Henry Pottinger a hero among British merchants, especially manufacturers in
Liverpool and Manchester. He was greatly praised there, and lavish dinner parties
were thrown in his honour.
However, this was not the mood of a part of the general public in Britain. Before
the British expedition arrived in China in the summer of 1840, some in London had
already named the conflict the ‘Opium War’. Anti-war campaigners expressing their
anger in the form of petitions, peace meetings, and polemical articles argued that its
purpose was to force opium on the Chinese. Some anti-war groups expressed moral
outrage against the opium trade and the war in the same way they had opposed the
slave trade, while the Peace Society’s anti-war rhetoric had a strong undertone of
Christianity. The contemporaneous British Afghanistan war ran parallel with the
Chinese war, and both were targets of anti-war movements.
The pro-war campaigners—key members of the Warlike party in Canton who
were now in London, the northern manufacturers, and supporters of Whig govern-
ment—wanted the war to be called the ‘Chinese War’. They argued that the war’s aim
was not to force opium on the Chinese but to open the Chinese market to British
trade and address the insults heaped on British merchants and officials. In justifying
the war, the pro-war campaign peddled the image of an ‘insular China’ that needed to
be opened up, and this became an established way of understanding China, in direct
competition with the image of a ‘peaceable China’ fashioned by the Jesuits and used in
the 1830s by anti-war groups in their arguments. History remembers little of the war
protests, yet it was the anti-war protesters who ensured that the war was remembered
as the Opium War rather than a Chinese war.1
The able negotiator of our peace with China
Once the war had been won and the treaty had been signed, the person singled out by
Britain’s commercial and political circles for celebration was Sir Henry Pottinger. The
The Regret of a Nation 127
Times warmly named him ‘the able negotiator of our peace with China’ as soon as the
news of peace in China arrived in London.2
On his way back to Britain in the summer of 1844, Pottinger stopped over in
Bombay. His arrival was described as ‘the signal of great rejoicings’. ‘He was wel-
comed with addresses, and with dinners, balls.’ At a ‘sumptuous dinner’, the white
and native merchants of Bombay together presented him with a silver plate to express
their gratitude for ‘the important benefits which his commercial arrangement with
the Chinese Government had conferred upon those interested in the trade with that
country’.3 This was a promising sign of how Pottinger would be received in Britain,
at least among the merchants. He conveyed his appreciation at the dinner: ‘I thank
you most warmly and cordially for your good wishes, and I beg to offer, in all sincer-
ity, mine in return for your individual and collective prosperity and happiness.’ He left
Bombay on 27 August and headed for home.4
Manchester and Liverpool showed the warmest hospitality. Before Pottinger came
to their city, the Board of Directors of the Manchester Chamber of Commerce and
Manufactures ‘unanimously adopted a congratulatory address’ praising him for his
feat of fixing China’s ‘tariff of duties’, in language not far from that befitting a saint:
From the high principles which actuated you in your negotiations with the
Chinese authorities, and from the wisdom which they have themselves manifested
in the arrangement of their tariff of duties, has arisen an irrefragable demonstra-
tion of how much the true interests of the human race would be promoted, were
nations, who do not hesitate to boast of superior enlightenment as contrasted
with the Chinese, to pursue the same policy.5
If free trade were a religion, Henry Pottinger’s facilitation of it would have been con-
sidered saintly. In Liverpool, on 18 December 1844, at 2 p.m., he walked into the
Council Chamber, where the large number of city merchants gathered there ‘saluted
him with three most heartily cheers’. He was to them nothing short of a hero. Dinner
in the splendid ballroom at the town hall followed, and ‘the dinner, wines, &c., were
creditable to Mr. Sim, of the Waterloo, who supplied the feast’. ‘Grace was said before
and after dinner by the Rev. Mr. Breaks.’ There were numerous cheers, toasts, and
speeches throughout the night.6
Two days later, Pottinger was on the mail train to Manchester, sitting ‘in his private
carriage, with Lady Pottinger and suite’. Manchester gave him as many welcomes and
great dinners as Liverpool, with musicians and singers in attendance and ‘the most
enthusiastic cheering’. However, Manchester was more creative in small things:
On the dinner tickets, price two guinea each, there was a very neatly executed
engraving of the signature of the Chinese treaty, Sir Henry, with his staff, sec-
retaries, &c., being represented within an Oriental pavilion holding out the
treaty, while the Chinese Commissioner, with his guard of honour, approaches
to receive it.7
The Manchester merchants also seemed to have more fun than their Liverpool coun-
terparts. After toasting and loud cheers, the mayor of the city rose and addressed the
assembly:
You will recollect that the population of Great Britain amounts to 27,000,000,
and if we consider for a single moment an equal trade with a population exceed-
ing 340,000,000 of people, the advantages must be almost wholly upon our
side. (Loud cheers.) I have heard an exclamation which proceeded from one of
our country manufacturers upon the subject, which I dare say will convey some
idea to the minds of gentlemen present of the advantages which we are likely to
derive from the extension of our intercourse with China.—‘Why,’ said the worthy
manufacturer, ‘all the mills we now have will hardly make yarn to fill them with
nightcaps and socks’. (Laughters).8
The image of ‘nightcaps and socks’ was vivid and appealing. Was this not the innocent
joy of ‘shopkeepers’, as the British were called? The accolades continued. The work-
ingmen of Manchester waited at the Queen’s Hotel, where Pottinger was staying, and
presented him with an ‘address’ with 10,438 signatures, which were said to have been
gathered ‘in the short space of 14 hours’. The men wanted to thank him for ‘the ben-
efits we have derived from your able services in your negotiations with the Chinese
government’. After returning to London, Pottinger penned a thank-you piece to the
workingmen that was published in The Times.9
In London, he stayed at 49 Albemarle Street near Pall Mall, the very centre of
the halls and mansions where grand dinners and stately functions were held.
On Boxing Day 1844, John Abel Smith, MP, who had introduced William Jardine to
Lord Palmerston, presided over a banquet given for Pottinger by London merchants.
On the guest list were Foreign Secretary Lord Aberdeen (George Hamilton-Gordon,
1784–1860) and his predecessor Lord Palmerston. Probably the most exaggerated
expression of glory over winning the war and signing the treaty was uttered that
night, which declared ‘the Chinese free trade tariff as equal in importance to the
discovery of America’—a claim that no one would remember or admit to saying the
following morning, but which a journalist jotted down and published—if he did not
invent it himself.10
Eight months after his return to Great Britain, Pottinger was still being entertained
at dinners given in his honour by the high society of London.11 Merchant associations
of Liverpool, Manchester, London, Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Belfast all presented him
with commemorative plates. The celebration culminated in the summer of 1845 when
Parliament gave him a pension for life of £1,500 per annum after Queen Victoria
added her weight to the recommendation.12
Outside the merchant and political circles and high society, a good number of
the British public were not feeling celebratory. If anything, most of them detested
the celebrations. The Leeds Times, which had been consistently vocal against the
war, attacked the pension award, describing the pension given to Pottinger as ‘public
money—drawn from the overtaxed labourers of England—the only methods of
remunerating “distinguished services!”’13
An equally sarcastic voice from Scotland called the dinners and parties ‘trice
happy day’ and described the inflated celebrations thus:
All was peace, harmony, and good fellowship, and the wine sparkled and the
cheer resounded; no flaws were detected—no faults, or mistakes, or misunder-
standings were alleged. There was not one syllable about opium, or opium eaters,
or an opium war. It was the Chinese war that had been so brilliantly closed—and
success atoned at once for all errors and covered all deficiencies.14
The anti-war campaign that took place across the country from early 1840, although
limited in scale, pre-empted the celebrations of 1844 and 1845 by making them
appear to the public eye a farcical covering up of injustice. During the war, long
before Henry Pottinger returned, many British citizens had decided that this war was
an outrage to British national honour and to Christian morality. To them, it was an
Opium War, and no other name would do.
Not in the name of my Christian nation
During the war years, starting in early 1841 and lasting for about two years, regular
coverage on the war appeared in Britain—sometimes small news items and other
times full articles—with headings such as ‘Progress of the Opium War’ or ‘Highly
Important News from China’.15 For London journalists and for politicians, the busiest
night in the three years of war probably occurred 10 April 1841, when Parliament
voted on the issue. After three nights of debates, the motion of no confidence in the
Whig government’s actions on China, on the table from the Tory leader Robert Peel,
finally came to a vote in the small hours and concluded just before four in the morning.
A few hours later, the results were printed in the morning newspapers, which gave a
full account of the debates with comments. The Whig government survived yet again
by a margin of only nine votes.16 The London newspapers that did not have jour-
nalists and typists waiting to report the outcome, and the newspapers near London
printed the results on 11 April. The following week, newspapers and journals across
the country relayed the story with added comments that fell on both sides, anti-war
and pro-war.
One of the most damning reports for the pro-war campaign in London was a diary
entry in a book published in 1841, an extract of which was printed in the Advocate
of Peace and in the Asiatic Journal. It described the street scene on Chusan Island
after an expedition force consisting of British troops assembled from India and other
Eastern ports had taken the island:
Chusan, on the 5th of July, 1840. Every house was indiscriminately broken open,
every drawer and box ransacked, the streets strewed with fragments of furniture,
pictures, chairs, tables, grain of all sorts, &c., &c., For two days the bodies were
allowed to lay, exposed to sight, where they fell. The plunder, however, was carried
to an extreme; that is to say, did not cease till there was nothing else to take,
and the plunderers will, no doubt, be able, on our return to Calcutta, to place at
their friends’ disposal, and for the ornamenting their houses trophies gained, not
from the Chinese soldiers, or from a field of battle, but from the harmless and
peaceable inhabitants and tradesmen of a city doomed to destruction by our men
of war.17
Accounts like this roused sympathy for the Chinese among readers, rather than a
desire to celebrate British victory. It fuelled the anti-war campaigns in Britain as the
public questioned the British soldiers’ unchristian behaviour.
Feelings of indignation over the war plagued the public mind, as had indignation
over the slave trade. Before the expedition forces had arrived in China and the news
of the war was still a rumour, in February and March 1840 George Thompson (1804–
1878), who for most of his life was known for his involvement in the anti-slavery
movement, took up the anti-war campaign in the hope that the war could be stopped.
He delivered several lectures in northern cities such as Leeds, Sheffield, Birmingham,
York, Darlington, and Glasgow. Thompson’s speeches were then published in full
or in summary, in newspapers and as pamphlets. Signatures were gathered during
his lectures for a petition to Parliament. In Leeds, 3,127 people signed the petition,
including the city’s Lord Mayor.18 The petition spoke against both the war and the
opium trade with China:
Your petitioners therefore humbly trust that your Honourable House will
approach the consideration of this momentous question, vitally affecting the
commercial and manufacturing interests of all classes in this country, the welfare
of hundreds of millions of the natives of Asia, and the reputation and useful-
ness of a professedly Christian people, with minds imbued with the feelings of
enlightened humanity, and under the guidance and control of the unchangeable
principles of justice and truth; and your petitioners pray, that such measures may
be adopted by your Honourable House, as will put an end to a trade, which, in its
character and consequences, is so widely and fatally injurious, and avert those
dreadful calamities which would inevitably attend a war between Great Britain
and China.19
Thompson encouraged his audience, and later his readers, to consider the welfare of
the whole human race, not just the British, which undercut the ‘national interests’ and
‘national honour’ arguments put forward by the pro-war campaign.
However, Thompson’s universal humanitarianism was not appreciated by all.
While delivering this message to the audience in Darlington, the Chartists of the
town, who at the time were campaigning for manhood suffrage and other political
rights of participation, took the opportunity afforded by this gathering to advocate

their cause. They disrupted the meeting, arguing ‘when the working men get their
rights, all the evils of which you now complain shall be immediately swept away’.
Sen J Pease replied that the meeting was ‘for the benefit of hundreds of millions who
had no means of making their condition known except through the medium of a
few friends in this county’. ‘A plasterer, of the name of Knox’, then complained that
this meeting was ‘to have more sympathy for the natives of China than for their own
workmen’. Because of the disruption, the meeting in the town hall was abandoned to
the Chartists and moved to the Friends’ Meeting House nearby.20 Universal humani-
tarianism at that moment clashed with national discourse.
Christian universalism, Enlightenment humanitarianism, and British national
identity were also the main arguments in a major meeting on 24 April 1840, at the
Freemasons’ Hall on Great Queen Street, London. By this time, London’s public was
quite certain that the expedition troops were gathering in Singapore before heading
to China. About three hundred people attended the meeting, ‘a large proportion of
whom were ladies’. The room was jam packed, and people were still coming in as the
chairman, Earl Stanhope (Philip Henry, 1781–1855), began to speak. He was uncom-
promising, describing the coming war as ‘an outrage upon the moral and religious
feeling of the country, and disgraceful to the Christian characters’. He believed the
‘Chinese had suffered from us the most irreparable injuries’.21
Before he could go further, someone requested to have an ‘independent chairman’,
because he believed the Earl was biased. The Earl expressed his displeasure: ‘I have
had some experience of public meetings, but never before did I see such an exhibi-
tion . . . (cheers).’ The person replied that if the meeting was public, the side of the
‘opium smugglers’ should be heard.
Then, Mr Sidney Taylor rose to speak. He felt obliged to explain, after the disrup-
tion, why he had come to the meeting: ‘not upon party feeling’, ‘nor upon sectar-
ian interests’, ‘but upon a question of public morality—(cheers) a question affecting
the honour of the British nation—affecting our Christian character—affecting the
welfare of three hundred and fifty millions of our fellow-creatures in China’. Alluding
to the negative portrayal of the Chinese by the pro-war campaign in the newspapers,
Taylor said:
The nineteenth century had been called the age of intellect, and they heard much
of its science, its intelligence, and its civilization. Why, then, in such enlightened
times as the present should they unsheathe the sword against the Emperor of
China? It was absurd to suppose that the object of the present meeting was to
interfere with the commerce of that country in the legitimate sense of the word.
Nothing could be a greater sophism than that. In the course of the debate in
the Commons it was stated that they sent Bibles and missionaries to China, and
that the opium war might be made the means of facilitating that introduction of
Christianity. (Oh.) A more monstrous proposition he never heard of—instead of

missionaries and Bibles they were to be the bearers to the Chinese of opium and
blood. It was the very mockery of Christianity itself.22
After more address and debate, the meeting came to a motion. The assembly wished
to express their dissatisfaction that ‘the moral and religious feeling of the country
should be outraged’ and that ‘this kingdom [should be] involved in a war . . . in con-
sequence of British subjects introducing opium into China’. A Mr Robertson inter-
rupted and motioned to amend the resolution to say that the traffic in opium was ‘the
occasion, not the cause of the war’, in effect saying that the war was not an opium war.
This received very little support and was voted down by an overwhelming majority.23
The assembly then resolved that ‘a copy of the resolution should be translated into
the Chinese language, and transmitted, through Commissioner Lin, to the Emperor
of China’. The meeting lasted for more than five hours and was shaped by those who
were outraged by both the opium trade and the war.
The details of this gathering were printed the next day in the major national
London newspapers: The Times, the Morning Chronicle, London Standard, and the
Morning Post. Among them, The Spectator was the most critical, concluding the report
with a condemnation of the war: ‘The sin of war in general, and the peculiar sinful-
ness of a war to force opium upon three hundred and fifty millions of people, were
insisted upon with much earnestness.’24 These London reports were then republished
in whole or in summary, some with comments, in more than twenty newspapers
across the country, informing many readers about the meeting and its agenda.25
From 1840 to 1843, arguments in pamphlets and newspapers proclaimed that
the opium trade and the war were ‘unjust’, an object of ‘guilt’, a ‘shame’, ‘a national
sin’, and a ‘shame on the honour of England’.26 This nationalistic discourse was used
for the anti-war campaign and by the Chartists of Darlington to express their disap-
pointment in not getting support for their own cause, as much as it was used by the
pro-war party to advocate their cause in both Canton and London by arguing the war
was for Britain’s national honour and national interests.
In the same fashion, Christian universal humanitarian discourse was adopted
by the pro-war groups to justify the war. A pamphlet addressed to Lord Palmerston
argued:
To see so many millions of our fellow-creatures, now wrapt in darkness, pursuing

the onward march of improvement in morality, science, and arts, but, beyond
all, adopting the pure tenets of Christianity, would be a triumph indeed. The
temporary inconvenience and trouble they may be put to by the measures now
necessary to set ourselves right with them, are as nothing when compared with
the repayments we may make them in acts of kindness and benevolence, when-
ever they are prepared to receive them at our hands.27
‘Our hands’ were those of a nation occupying the high ground of Christian civiliza-
tion, to be passed on by means of war, even to be regarded as an act of ‘benevo-
lence’. Although this may have sounded hypocritical, some people believed it. Both
discourses—the national and Christian-centred universal humanitarianism—could
be accessed by both pro-war and anti-war camps in their contrary arguments. The
discursive forces drew on the same theory of Britain being a Christian nation, with
each attempting to impose its own meaning on Christianity and the nation to steer
the direction of the government. At stake was the integrity of the nation in this war
of words, as it would be in the nation’s name that the war was waged. As a war with
China became imaginable five years after the Canton Warlike party’s first petition in
December 1834, Britain, as a nation, was struggling to find a moral ground in matters
of both state and religion—to wage war or not, and then to reconcile the fact that the
war had been started.
Opium War or Chinese War?
The names Opium War and Chinese War served as another battlefield in the war of
words between the pro-war and anti-war camps. Party politics—the fight between the
Whig and Tory parties—first ignited the battle of naming.
In the winter of 1839, half a year before the expedition troops were assembled
in Singapore, the Morning Herald—a strong Tory supporter—noted the Whig gov-
ernment’s precarious position and sounded the death knell to accelerate its demise.
In late December, one of its propagandist articles recounted ‘the memorabilia of the
Melbourne administration’ and in the list playfully called the war that was then still a
rumour ‘the opium war against China’.28 The only basis for this account was the news
of opium confiscation in Canton in the spring that year and leaked intelligence that
instructions for the preparation for war had been sent to India. News of the skirmishes
in the Canton estuary in September and November 1839 between Superintendent of
Trade Charles Elliot’s warships and Chinese water forces had yet to reach London.
This clever name, Opium War, was picked up and opposed by others. A pam-
phlet countered, ‘Opium has nothing to do with it. It is not an opium war—it is a
war to obtain redress for the grossest outrages that have ever before been offered to
Englishmen.’29 This pamphlet was in turn countered by the Monthly Chronicle, and
then by the Asiatic Journal, which argued that the author of the pamphlet ‘is not to
be trusted’. ‘Like most writers upon his side of this question, he is a partizan, and a
warm one.’30
The Spectator, which was relatively neutral in party politics but took a strong anti-
war position, attacked newspapers such as the Morning Chronicle, The Examiner, and
The Globe that had opposed the name Opium War, saying:
The Government writers are labouring strenuously to give a respectable colour

to the war with China. It is ‘washing the blackamoor white’: do what they can—
gloss it over as they may—the opium war is the name by which history will hand
it down.31
In the following months The Times, despite being supportive of the Whig govern-
ment, could not resist the temptation to use the name a few times in its articles, while
other newspapers, especially those outside London, took opportunities to use the
name emphatically, as The Spectator did.32
In the House of Commons, the term was first uttered on 7 April 1840 by a cabinet
member, Secretary at War Thomas Macaulay (1800–1859). He was trying to argue
against what he saw as the public opinion that ‘the Government was advocating the
cause of the contraband trade, to force an opium war on the public; but he thought
that it was impossible to be conceived that a thought so absurd and so atrocious
should have ever entered the minds of the British Ministry’.33
The pro-war groups preferred to call it the Chinese War. They argued that the
country was going to war to open the Chinese market to British trade and to address
the insults heaped on British merchants and officials—a matter of national interest
and national honour—as the Warlike party of Canton had argued.
Opium War or Chinese War? The nation was deeply divided. Lord Brougham,
in the difficult position of being a Whig MP, when called on by a group of anti-war
merchants and citizens of Edinburgh to present a petition in Parliament against the
war and the opium trade skilfully addressed the meeting in Edinburgh:
I can only say that it will prove a bitter mortification to those who, for so many
years, have been endeavouring to spread amongst them the information, and
to inculcate the principles, which it was fondly hoped would make all unlaw-
ful wars, that is, wars not waged in self-defence, a thing only known in the past
history of national crimes.34
This was as far as Brougham could go, indirectly naming it an ‘unlawful war’ to satisfy
the crowd without being seen as directly opposing his government. The term ‘national
crimes’ was ambiguously positioned, neither condemning nor condoning the war.
The anti-war campaigners gave other names to the war, which were even worse
than Opium War. The Leeds Times, which saw itself as the voice of the British working
class, conflated the war question and taxation issue (as they would in 1845 in ques-
tioning the £1,500 pension handed to Henry Pottinger), arguing in May 1840 that the
war was evidence of ‘aristocratic misgovernment, as indicated by aristocratic taxa-
tion’. They named it ‘the aristocratic opium war with China’.35
During the war years, Britain’s newspapers also carried detailed reports of war
casualties. The assaults at Bogue in the Canton estuary in June 1841 were summarized
in part: ‘General Sir Hugh Gough calculates the loss of the Chinese in the different
attacks at 1,000 killed and 3,000 wounded. The loss on the British side was 15 killed
and 112 wounded, including several highly distinguished officers.’36 Reporting on
British assaults on Ningbo, where large numbers of Chinese were killed—the bat-
tlefield was a marketplace and the narrow alleyways of the city, and bodies were piled
high or removed to make way for British cannons—The Spectator questioned:
It is impossible to read the accounts of the military operations in China without

shame and disgust. It is not war, but sheer butchery—a battu in a well-stocked
preserve of human beings. . . . Is it a sign of wisdom in the British nation to persist
in a struggle which can only weaken it? Is it a sign of humanity to sanction such
wholesale butchery of human beings? Is it a sign of morality to do all this in order
that a poisonous drug may be smuggled into the markets of China?37
This sentiment was echoed a month later in an anti-war meeting in Dublin. The
chairman of the meeting, James Haughton (1795–1873), asserted:
It has been called the Chinese war, but, in history it will go down in characters
never to be blotted out, as the Chinese butchery. From 15 to 20,000 of that people
have been destroyed by us, while the total loss in battle, on the English side, has
amounted to but a few men killed, and but a small number wounded—Verity,
my friends, the warrior’s brows have not been crowned with any laurels in this
unholy crusade—this shameful opium war, undertaken to sustain in their iniq-
uitous course a horde of smugglers, who are a disgrace to the Christian name.38
The war was now being called ‘Chinese butchery’. As an increasing number of such
reports on war causalities were printed, readers were embarrassed to learn that the
Chinese could not withstand the slightest attack by the British troops. A victory won
in this manner was nothing glorious. A sense of unease over the Chinese casualty
numbers was spreading. ‘National honour’ was truly in jeopardy.
The Spectator, as the staunchest anti-war voice, not only named it the Opium War
but attacked both the Whig party for launching the war and the Tory party for its
half-hearted opposition. The newspaper thoroughly insulted the supporters of the
war and accused them of profiteering:
The Opium War party is strong, as every war party is in this country until a suc-
cession of disasters has alarmed and disgusted an overwhelming majority. For
note how numerous and influential are the chief gainers by war. The aristocracy—
the predominant interest—the class which crowds the Church and the Bar with
younger sons and needy cousins—find a vent for family hangers-on in the aug-
mented Army and Navy. The veterans in both services rejoice in the recurrence
of active employment; and many youngsters are eager to exchange dull parades
and garrison-duty for the rapture of the strife: their motives are not all sordid.39
As if these were not offensive enough, The Spectator extended its insults to other
interest groups, saying that the ‘dealers in clothing, arms, and provisions’ also found
the war profitable. The single biggest community was ‘the general mercantile com-
munity’, whose natural position The Spectator believed ‘ought to be for peace’ but
supported the war. The reason, The Spectator argued, was also profiteering:
Compensation for the opium delivered up to destruction ‘for her Majesty’s

service’—valued, without interest, at about two million and a half sterling—can
only be obtained by war: so the Government assures the opium-smugglers and
their agents. Upon this assurance a considerable number of London merchants,
engaged in the Canton trade, were induced to sign the letter deprecating opposi-
tion to the measures of Ministers, which Lord Palmerston used so effectively
in reply to Sir James Graham’s motion, three weeks ago.40
In the media campaign, during and after the war, compensation for confiscated and
then destroyed opium was the reason for the existence of many pro-war articles
and pamphlets, and even continual governmental support of the war. There were at
least five pamphlets on this topic published by the Warlike party and their associates
in London. The London commercial circle were throwing their weight behind the
pro-war arguments. In this atmosphere, not only was Parliament obliged to debate
the compensation issue (it decided that China would pay the compensation), but also
the Tory government, which came to power in August 1841 in the middle of the war,
was obliged to support the demand for compensation and the war’s continuation.41
In asking China to pay compensation for the opium destroyed, the pro-war
groups shot themselves in the foot. The merchant community could not simulta-
neously demand compensation and claim that the war was not about opium. This
confirmed what the anti-war groups had been arguing all along—that this was an
opium war. As The Spectator asserted, if this was a war ‘whose origin was opium, and
whose end is opium’, then how could it not be named the Opium War? The newspa-
per delivered its punchline: ‘The War party betrays soreness because of the name by
which their marauding expedition to the coast of China is designated. The truth is
the libel.’42
A well-informed American politician, John Worth Edmonds (1799–1874), who
gave a lecture on the war in Newburgh, New York, joined those ridiculing opium
compensation:
And now the British Government demands of the Chinese Empire indemnity for
the property thus seized. I will venture to say that this is the first instance in the
annals of civilization, (if not the first, it is to be hoped it will be the last,) in which
indemnity for smugglers has been demanded at the cannon’s mouth.43
The Freemasons’ Hall meeting in April 1840 used even stronger language: ‘that to
grant compensation to the smugglers of opium, justly confiscated, would be to “offer
a premium for crime”’.44
However, when it came to the topic of opening up the Chinese market to British
trade, the anti-war arguments became ambiguous. There was a strong general con-
sensus in the 1830s that Britain was a nation of trade; that is, only by expanding
trade could the island nation survive. That Britain was a nation of shopkeepers held
true. The celebrations in Liverpool and Manchester and the exaggerated sense of
achievement in calling the fixing of the tariff ‘equal in importance to the discovery of
America’ bespoke this faith in the maritime trade.
After the war was won in August 1842 and there were no more causality reports,
the trade argument seemed more justifiable. When the attendees of the December
1842 Dublin ‘peace meeting’—where the war had been called a ‘Chinese butchery’—
heard the news that the war in China had ended, they took comfort first in the arrival
of peace, followed by happiness at the prospect of trading opportunities:
Let us rejoice in this account; and we have also cause of joy on account of the
prospect of improved trade opened up to us by these cessations from strife. The
Afghans will now trade with us, and three hundred millions of Chinese will
surely give some added occupation to our industrious artisans—so that comfort
may soon again visit the abode of many, in which distress has been, alas! too long
a visitant.45
Similarly, when the news that the treaty had been signed arrived in London, newspa-
pers, rejoicing at the expansion of trade, called it ‘glorious news’. The pro-war groups
took the opportunity to attack the anti-war campaigns, saying, ‘The endeavour to cast
obloquy on this war by giving it an odious name, by calling it “The Opium War,” was
as unpardonable as unwarrantable on the part of the genuine Tory papers, and the
unprincipled renegades of the press and in the Parliament.’46
The trade argument may have given the war a positive spin, but it was not enough
to win over the true-blue anti-war protestors. Commenting on the war’s conclusion,
the Peace Society lamented, ‘Ages will not wipe from the character of Great Britain the
deep and damning disgrace of this war.’47 Remarking on the unanimous vote of thanks
in Parliament for the military’s service in winning the war, the Leeds Times said:
No; its unanimity was exhibited in rejoicing over successful carnage, committed
in an unjust cause—in congratulations of the success of criminal and indefen-
sible wars. It was in profuse gratitude to the Military and Naval Commanders,
who, in conducting the Opium War, were the instruments of national crime and
injustice.48
Even after the war was won and the treaty had expanded British trade, both the Whig
and Tory governments and the pro-war groups still had a great deal to fight about in
justifying the war. The war of words extended further to the British images of China
either as ‘peaceable’ or ‘insular’.
Peaceable China or insular China?
The anti-war movements in Britain gained support partly because the protesters
viewed China as a peaceful, idyllic world. As it was stated in the Freemasons’ Hall
meeting, ‘We were now engaged in hostilities with an empire the most peaceable, and
also the most populous, which had ever existed in ancient or modern times.’49 The
same image of an idyllic China was supported in America by Edmonds, who argued
against forcing Christianity onto the Chinese—one of the pro-war arguments:
Such is the people—thus simple and unobtrusive, in regard to whom the

Christian world is now called upon to imitate the example of Constantine, and
with the Cross upon our banner, to conquer and destroy—for the sake of human-
ity, to force into civilization at the point of the bayonet—and in the name of
Him, who proclaim peace on earth and good will to man, to drive into Christianity,
by the gleam of our sabres and the thunder of our artillery.
The image of China as ‘peaceable’ and ‘simple and unobtrusive’ was built on a series
of accounts of China that could be traced back to Marco Polo’s (1254–1324) story
of the faraway, prosperous land. Juan González de Mendoza (1545–1618) enhanced
this view, using Spanish missionaries’ reports of China to edit a book-length account
of the legendary land of Cathay published in 1585 the book Historia de las cosas
más notables, ritos y costumbres del gran reyno de la China which was translated into
English in 1588 with the title The History of the Great and Mighty Kingdom of China
and the Situation Thereof.50
The Jesuit missionaries who served in the late Ming and early Qing courts between
the late sixteenth and early eighteenth centuries brought the image of the faraway
utopian kingdom to perfection. The Jesuits had good reason to do this. They often
wrote from the grand imperial palace and gardens, which they had helped to beautify
by bringing Western-style architecture to China. The people they mingled with were
mostly the elite of Chinese society, who were the least likely to be troubled by poverty
or to be beaten down by earning a living. Up to the late eighteenth century, Europe
had fallen behind China in material wealth. Their China, thus, was a prosperous
country. In addition, the Jesuits’ approach to their mission was to fuse Catholicism
and Confucianism, which they believed to be a remnant of an old Christian teaching.
Their approach provided a strong motive to portray China as an idyllic kingdom
with the aura of Eden. The China they fashioned was then talked about by the
Enlightenment philosophers, such as Voltaire and Leibniz, who saw China as a
kingdom with a rational bureaucratic system presided over by a philosopher king or,
at worst, a benevolent autocracy.51
The Canton British community was the only European community that had sus-
tained contact with China after the Jesuits. They became a new source of knowledge
on China and knew that they were in this unique position: ‘It is to the free merchants
and others of Canton, that the world now looks for fuller and truer accounts of China
than have yet been made public, either in the letters and memoires of the clever
Jesuits, or elsewhere.’ 52
From their position in Canton in the 1830s, the Warlike party saw a decaying,
corrupt, tyrannical, and backward China that was falling behind civilized Europe.53
They questioned the Jesuit picture of China: ‘Such is the condition of a country, which
Europe has hitherto viewed as a model of wisdom.’54
The grounds for judging China shifted as Western Europe grew to outperform it
in terms of material life and technological improvements, among other things. Just
as the Jesuits’ memoirs, letters, and books were coloured by their approach to their
mission and their experiences in the court of Peking, the negative experiences of the
British merchants in Canton’s port also coloured their observations. The merchants
did not have the luxury of interacting with Chinese literati or conversing with the
emperors. Those days were long gone. After the ban on Christianity in the 1720s,
Europeans in China, be they missionaries or merchants, were seen and treated by the
Qing bureaucratic system as the potential allies of the domestic rebels. The mood in
Canton was hostile. In the confined space of the Thirteen Factories, it was obvious
that China was shutting them out. Canton’s position, along with the confidence in
civilizational progress and considering the Warlike party’s identity as citizens of
the most powerful nation in the world, led to a sharp sense of humiliation. They
wanted their nation to open up this closed China, to teach the Chinese how to prop-
erly treat the British—as the subjects of a great nation and certainly not as allies of
Chinese rebels.
The Warlike party of Canton, however, did not invent a new knowledge of China
entirely by themselves. John Milton (1608–1674), who distrusted the Jesuits’ account
of China on theological grounds, had already cast a shadow on the country’s image.55
In the late seventeenth century, negative British perception of China emerged, putting
the Jesuits’ knowledge of China further into question.56 Commodore George Anson
(1697–1762) received a rather unfavourable impression of the Chinese during his
time in Canton in 1743. His crews were robbed, and the mandarins treated his fleet
with suspicion, causing him a great deal of inconvenience in supplying the ships.
In his well-known book A Voyage Round the World, Anson commented, ‘In artifice,
falsehood, and an attachment to all kinds of lucre, many of the Chinese are difficult
to be parallel by any other people.’ The compiler of his book knew this description of
the Chinese to be ‘so contradictory to the character given of them in the legendary
accounts of the Romish Missionaries’. To convince readers, a lengthy and detailed
description was provided as an account of how Anson and his crews were badly
treated in Canton.57
The failed Macartney embassy at the end of the century compounded the British
perception of China.58 In 1817, John Murray (1778–1843), the London publisher of
Byron’s (1788–1824) poems, was editing a book about the recently returned and frus-
trated Amherst embassy, and wrote the following to the poet: ‘I hope we shall have
a war with them.’ The book Murray published showed how the embassy suffered at
the hands of the Qing officials.59 Although opinions like these in Britain were slowly
growing, they had no direct bearing on the military action taken in 1839–1842.60
Studies on British perception of China during the eighteenth century and early nine-
teenth century confirmed that the British had relatively positive imagination of China
right before the Opium War.61 The real source of the new perception of China was
the Warlike party in Canton, which advanced the war idea along with their decisive
negative perceptions of China.
In the days of the East India Company, requests to change the conditions of
interaction were handled through the two embassies, because the EIC’s Board of
Directors had direct access to the power centre in London. In the era of private mer-
chants, the Warlike party first resorted to war arguments in their own press, and then
media campaigns and lobbying in Britain. In addition, their smuggler’s identity on
the outlying island of Lintin, where they anchored their floating depots for unof-
ficial trade, gave them even more reason to promote a view of China as a corrupt,
backward country. The more they disseminated this image of China, the less wicked
their opium trade looked. A negative image of China would lend all the more justifi-
cation for war.
However, this negative perception of the Chinese was not unanimous among the
British community in Canton. The Pacific party, along with the majority of Americans,
did not see the Canton system as confinement but rather understood it to be the host
country’s condition for trade. They seemed to share the Jesuits’ image of China.
To be sure, the Warlike party, while painting an insular China for the world to
see, did not completely dismiss the Jesuits’ account. Rather, they used it as part of
their war arguments by explaining that the merchants encountered difficulties in
Canton due to the local government’s corruption. They believed the court in Peking
was still a good government as the Jesuits depicted and talked about taking their
case to the emperor. Some Warlike party members even tried to reconcile the Jesuit
image of China with their own experience by arguing that the real Chinese were
under oppression by the Manchu (the Tartar) who presided over the Qing Empire.
They thus believed that, once war started, the Han Chinese, who were the majority
of the country and oppressed by the Manchu, would join the British in overthrowing
the Tartars’ despotic regime. This idea was shared by the British expedition forces,
who were disappointed when they landed on Chusan in the summer of 1840 to
find no sign of Han rebellion against the Manchu—only that they all fought against
the British.62
In London, the image of a peaceable China prevailed in the first half of the 1830s
and it appeared in George Thomas Staunton’s argument against the war petition of
1835. He described China as an ancient and tranquil country in good order and said
that Britain should not intrude, lest the EIC’s China tea trade that sustained the com-
pany’s profitability be disrupted.63 When Palmerston met James Matheson the first
time (as mentioned in Chapter 6) the image of rational Chinese bureaucracy was
alluded to in his reply: ‘I have read some Chinese state papers and they are most just
and equitable and would make no bad protocol.’ Palmerston subscribed to the Jesuits’
China, despite being one of the most warlike statesmen of his time.
But ‘insular China’ was starting to gain popularity in Britain in the second half
of the 1830s due to the pro-war campaign, which circulated in London the idea that
Britain’s ‘national honour’ had been tarnished by the Chinese. China was depicted as
isolated and thus ignorant of the outside world. The Chinese did not know of Britain’s
greatness, and their isolation led to them mistreating and insulting the British.
Commander John Elliot Bingham, whose passage on the battle in Ningbo was quoted
by The Spectator as evidence of ‘Chinese butchery’, was now quoted by another news-
paper to argue that the insults received from the Chinese were the issue:
We had a long series of insults to be redressed, among which were—our flag fired
upon; the representative of our Government with our merchants imprisoned,
their property seized, confiscated, and destroyed, their memorials and repre-
sentations treated with barbarian ignorance, and their persons expelled from
Canton.64
The ‘insults’ described were based on facts well documented in the Canton print
media, in translated Chinese official papers, and in the private letters and journals
of those who witnessed them. A majority of Chinese officials, in dealing with the
foreigners who came ashore, took the high position that the Chinese civilization was
the leading, if not the only, civilization in the world, in the manner of fundamental-
ist neo-Confucianism. This way of thinking was prevalent in Qing officialdom by
the early nineteenth century and entrenched among the bureaucrats in charge of the
Canton port. The condescending attitude was particularly offensive to those British
who were proud of the greatness of the British Empire.
The anti-war camps in Britain, immersed in the idea of a peaceable China, did
not choose to understand the interaction from the Canton Warlike party’s perspec-
tive. They saw the insults listed as a smear campaign run by the pro-war and pro-
government press. The Spectator and the Northern Star both criticized the pro-war
groups on this point:
That is the true question: and the whole aim of the Ministerial press is to excite
such a prejudice against Chinese customs as may lead the people of this country
to let the war go on. Either this shameful war must go on, or Ministers may
have to go out: hence the diligence of the ministerial press in stimulating the
people to such hatred of the Chinese as should make them overlook the injustice
of the opium war.65
The unrighteous quarrel of the ‘Shopkeepers’ with the Chinese empire has
afforded food for all the newspapers during the past week; and, with marvellous
ingenuity, the hired hacks of the ‘shopkeeping’ fraternity have laboured to mystify
the whole matter, by talking contemptuously of the Chinese as the ‘celestials’—
by prating of the injuries which we have received, especially the exceedingly grave
fact that a Chinese man actually treated the picture of King George IV with disre-
spect, by turning the back of his chair towards it! Yes, reader, be astonished at the
forbearance of the English nation towards these barbarous ‘celestials’!66
Britain’s knowledge of China, nonetheless, was changing. What the editors of The
Spectator and the Northern Star did not know was that the campaign to depict China
as ‘insular’ would be a great success in history. The war left China’s image tarnished
and peaceable China replaced by insular China, which was first brought into focus by
the Warlike party in Canton in the 1830s as the mainstream image.
The negative perception of China became so widespread that by 1847—only
five years after the war and treaty—the American missionary Samuel Wells Williams
(1812–1884), who lived in Canton during the 1830s, was alarmed by what he had to
confront when he published his monumental work on Chinese history, The Middle
Kingdom. He explained the purposes of his book:
Another object aimed at, has been to divest the Chinese people and civilization of
that peculiar and almost undefinable impression of ridicule which is so generally
given them; as if they were the apes of Europeans, and their social state, arts, and
government, the burlesques of the same things in Christendom.67
From the Jesuits’ ‘philosopher king’ to the 1840s’ ‘apes of Europeans’, the changes
in British imagination of China were dramatic, thanks largely to the Warlike party’s
public campaign and the need for justification after the war.
The working-class sinologist Peter Perring Thoms (fl. 1814–1856) shared Williams’s
dismay and efforts to rescue China’s public image. Shocked by the negative portrayal
of China, he conducted a one-man campaign against it, concentrating his efforts on
the question of whether the Chinese, in using the word yi in naming, had insulted the
British by calling them ‘barbarians’.
Thoms had gone to China in 1814, working under the East India Company, specifi-
cally to assist in the printing of Robert Morrison’s Dictionary of the Chinese Language.
While working as typographer in the EIC’s printing house in Macao, Thoms learned
Chinese, partly through his typographical work. Three years after coming to China,
Thoms was able to write Chinese characters for carving. He published two transla-
tion works in the next seven years. When his third translation, Stories of the Three
Kingdoms, was ready for printing in 1826, his contract with the EIC ended, and he
went back to London, where he opened a printing house of his own.68 In London,
Thoms continued to study China and from time to time supplied translated Chinese
poems and short stories to London journals.69
In fighting the Warlike party’s print media campaign of 1835 in London, Thoms
published an article in the Monthly Magazine rebutting Matheson’s and Lindsay’s
polemical pamphlets point by point, saying that in these pamphlets ‘justice is not
done to the Chinese’.70 On the word yi that the Warlike party saw as evidence of insult,
Thoms argued that ‘the Chinese do not attach to it an offensive meaning’, thus yi did
not mean ‘barbarian’. He pointed out that during his stay in China he had heard,
again and again, the Chinese ‘acknowledge our superiority over them, not only in our
shipping and merchandise in general, but as an intelligent people’. He then published
the article as a pamphlet to further spread his view of China.71
As the question of how best to understand yi was not solved during the Nanking
Treaty negotiations, the Chinese continued to use the word to designate the British
in communications in the treaty ports and in Hong Kong after the war. Some British
were offended. The Chinese secretary to the Hong Kong colonial government,
Walter Henry Medhurst (1822–1885), a prominent advocate of gunboat diplomacy,
launched a major attack on the designation in a Hong Kong newspaper, arguing that
the word yi used in Chinese official documents did not live up to the spirit of the
Nanking Treaty.72 The arguments on the use of yi started all over again.
On reading Medhurst’s arguments, around November 1851, Thoms was rather
concerned. His experience ‘attending a Public Meeting in the City of London, where
the speaker boldly affirmed that the Chinese called all Europeans barbarians, with
other gratuitous accusations’ further worried him. He found ‘these ideas are very
prevalent in England’ and determined to put the record straight.73 Thoms revised his
first pamphlet and added new arguments. He then had the foreign secretary, Lord
Leveson (Granville George Leveson-Gower, 1815–1891), forward this second pam-
phlet to the staff of the Foreign Office in China.74
This time, however, Thoms mistakenly believed that the word in question was man
(‘barbarians’ from the south), causing his one-man campaign to look all the more
quixotic. He also wrongly assumed that no complaints about these offensive words
had been made before the Napier Affair in 1834.75
Seven Foreign Office staff members in China replied, and only one, D. B. Robertson,
agreed with Thoms. The other six officials questioned the existence of the Chinese
character man in any official communication and were inclined to believe that the
Chinese did use words such as yi to insult the British.76 Three English newspapers in
Hong Kong criticized Thoms’ pamphlet, although the main disagreement with Thoms
came from Medhurst.77 Rather unexpectedly for Thoms, the opposition elicited by
his second pamphlet only consolidated the Foreign Office’s position that yi was an
offensive designation and made the civil servants on the frontier more determined to
obtain official redress for its use.
Despite this disappointing result, Thoms tried one last time. He added comments
to the second pamphlet from the seven diplomatic replies and a detailed refutation
of Medhurst. He published the document—his third pamphlet on the yi issue—from

his own print house in 1853.78 It seemed nobody was interested. An opinion had been
formed, and Thoms had no choice but to end his one-man campaign.
Five years later, the final verdict was delivered. After the British won the Second
Opium War (1856–1860), the use of the word yi in any official communication was
banned by the Treaty of Tianjin. Article 51 read:
It is agreed that, henceforward, the character ‘I’ [yi] (barbarian), shall not be
applied to the Government or subjects of Her Britannic Majesty in any Chinese
official document issued by the Chinese Authorities either in the Capital or in
the Provinces.79
The prohibition of the word yi by an international treaty made it official that China
had insulted Britain, specifically, that the Chinese were so isolated and ignorant that
they had called the British ‘barbarians’. Thus the insular China put forward by the
Warlike party in Canton and their pro-war campaign in London as part of their moral
justification for the war that produced a negative image of China prevailed, and it
would last to this day. In the post-war era, however, the image of a peaceable China
was by no means out of circulation. It kept attracting so-called Sinophiles such as
Thoms well into the twenty-first century.
Entangled in the pro-war and anti-war discourses, the two knowledge systems—
peaceable and insular—were antithetical. Each term described the same remote
China with a different focus. While a peaceable China could be either worthy of imi-
tation or left alone and viewed as an idyllic utopia, an insular China was backward
and required improvement by Western civilization for trade and profits. The dual
viewpoints were both owned by the British, announcing their conflicting identities
and ways of engaging the world: one for war and one for peace.
A deep stain on the page of Britain’s history
Britain’s ‘inner opium war’ was not yet over. Phrases describing the First Opium War,
such as ‘the blackest stain on the character of Britain’ and ‘a deep stain on the page
of Britain’s history’ recurred in the most unexpected places, even when discussing
matters of little relevance to the war.80
In 1853, a group of high-society ladies, led by the Duchess of Sutherland (Harriet
Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, 1806–1868), sent a letter of ‘affectionate address’ on
the issue of slavery, which was styled as ‘Women of England to Women of America’.
In mentioning the Opium War, the ladies wrote, ‘We are taunted with a violation
of every principle of international law in the opium war with China.’ But what the
English ladies got from the women of America was a slap-in-the-face reply: ‘We will
not talk about Opium War!’81
The ‘nightcap’, spoken of at the dinner party held for Henry Pottinger in
Manchester, now became the nightmare of the handloom weavers of 1850s Britain.
Once at the forefront of the industrial revolution—before the rest of the country
began to industrialize—the handloom weavers of northern England had lost their
jobs in those years to the machine looms. They blamed the market that opened in
China as a result of the war for fuelling the expansion of industrialization. The social
reformer W. B. Ferrand (1809–1889), who was dubbed ‘the working man’s friend’,
first attacked the war in a public meeting of handloom weavers, then in an open letter
to the Duke of Newcastle-under-Lyme (Henry Pelham Fiennes Pelham-Clinton,
1811–1864) urging him to use his influence to protect the weavers:82
So the Whig Government lent the cotton lords the British army and the British
navy, and off they went to China to attack an unoffending and undefended race
of people. (Loud cries of ‘Hear, hear’)—who had committed no crime, who had
offered no insult to this country, who had broken no treaty—it was, in fact the
most unprovoked, unjust, and infamous war England was ever engaged in. (Loud
cheers.) So monstrous was it that Sir James Graham stigmatised it as an opium
war. I here proclaim it a cotton war. (Tremendous cheering.)83
Another race of hand-loom weavers must be immolated on the iron altar
of Manchester’s cotton god, and upon China the Free-traders now fixed their
“evil eye”—a nation of hand-loom weavers as industrious as they were numer-
ous, whose happiest lot was to ply the shuttle, and live at peace apart from the
world. The Whig government consented to bind the sacrifice. A British army and
navy were dispatched to harbinger Manchester Free-trade—to drag the Celestial
Empire in her cotton wake, and from the cannon’s mouth to teach the doctrines
of her selfish school. The poor Chinese, who had long been members of “The
Peace Society”, were unprepared for self-defence, yet they seized their rusty
matchlocks and gloriously grappled with their Free-trade foes. . . . It was a wicked
Manchester Free-trade war, a war scarcely equalled, never surpassed in infamy
and disgrace; but it opened ‘new outlets’ for the productions of the Lancashire
power-looms, and now enables the Manchester Free-traders to announce in their
organs, that “for China the purchases sum up a large quantity”. Who, in the name
of humanity, can “sum up the large quantity” of hand-loom weavers who have
already “whitened the plains of China with their bones”, and the awful number
of the doomed?84
The terms ‘cotton war’ and ‘Manchester free-trade war’ expressed another dimen-
sion of the conflict’s meaning to the British public. Because they understood that the
war had destroyed their livelihood, the handloom weavers found solidarity with the
Chinese, who were also seen as victims of the profit-making British free-traders.
The debates on the First Opium War, which continued in the decade after the
war, merged with Britain’s public opinions of what would be called the Second
Opium War. John Bright, a prominent figure in the Anti-Corn Law League, joined
the anti-war campaigns. In his constituency of Birmingham, he addressed more than
3,000 people in October 1858 when there was false news that the second war in China
had ended:
The first war was called, and properly called, the opium war. No man, I believe,
who has a spark of morality in his composition—no man who cares a farthing for
the moral opinion of his country, has ever dared fairly to justify that war (hear,
hear). And the war which is just now concluded, if it be even yet concluded,
had its origin in the first war, because the enormities committed in the first war
formed the foundation, to a great extent, of the implacable hostility which, it is
said, the inhabitants of Canton bear to all persons connected with the English
name.85
Bright made a connection between the two wars and claimed that the Chinese hatred
for the British had been aroused by the first and thus led to the second. As with other
anti-war arguments, he saw the First Opium War not as a conflict between Britain
and China but as a war of injustice.
Bright’s anti-war stand was the main reason that he did not return to Parliament
in the general election of 1859.86 His opponent on the war issue was none other than
Lord Palmerston, who was now prime minister. In attacking the anti-war campaign
during the election, Palmerston played the patriotism card, arguing that the wars
were in the national interest, just as the Warlike party had argued in the 1830s in
Canton.87 The pro-war argument, first developed in Canton, was taking root in parts
of Britain.
Still, many peace meetings and newspaper articles took issue with the renewed
conflict in China.88 As with the first war, the anti-war movement during the 1850s
did not carry weight in Whitehall’s decision to go to war. The more the politicians
ignored them as diplomats, soldiers, and merchants committed aggressions at the
frontiers of the empire, the more the anti-war groups would talk about the opium
war. The name Opium War conveyed the frustration of the anti-war campaigners,
expressing their anger over the issue.
Beginning with the conclusion of the second conflict in 1860 and continuing to the
eve of the handing over of Hong Kong to China in 1997, ‘Opium War’ became a sign
of national regret, a historical admission that ‘we’ the British have done wrong. The
parliamentary debates after the 1860 were full of this indignation, reflecting, to an
extent, the public mood regarding the war. Following the anti-war arguments, the
parliamentarians called the conflict between 1856 and 1860 ‘another Opium War’, the
‘Second Opium War’, or lumped the two wars together calling them ‘the Opium Wars’.
It was in these contexts that the conflict between 1856 and 1860 came to be called the
Second Opium War. The Spectator’s assertion: ‘The Opium War is the name by which
history will hand it down’ became true not for one but for two wars.
Speaking in the House of Lords immediately after the second conflict, Earl Grey
(Henry George, 1802–1894) described how the wars destroyed China:
The mouth of the great canal, which in 1842 was so crowded with grain junks that
a passage could hardly be made through them, deserted, except by a few Imperial
war junks; and cities which were then rich and prosperous, the seats of commerce
and industry, almost reduced to heaps of ruins.89
Earl Grey further argued that the Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864), which wreaked
havoc in a major part of China with more than 20 million deaths, was ‘the direct
consequence of the Opium War of 1842, and of the treaty by which it was concluded’,
a point that was proven by historian Frederic Wakeman in 1966.90
Richard Cobden, another major figure—along with John Bright—in the Anti-Corn
Law League who was mostly associated with free trade, advocated in Parliament in
1864 ‘the policy of non-intervention, by force of arms, in the internal political affairs
of Foreign Countries’, an attitude that was consistent with his support of free trade.
He wanted this policy to be put into practice in relation to China. Cobden quoted as
evidence trade figures that increased in the first three years after the treaty of 1842 but
had subsequently gone into decline—even to a point lower than in 1835, before the
war. In his view, the two wars were not in the true spirit of free trade, as the British
state had intervened in the Chinese market on behalf of the British merchants.91
The issue that kept parliamentarians coming back to discuss the wars and con-
demning them was the continued opium trade in China after 1842 and India’s reli-
ance on its revenue. The politicians learned that the average yearly import of opium
from India to China between 1842 and 1859 was 74,091 chests, three times more
than that was confiscated by Commissioner Lin in 1839. Most imports went through
Hong Kong, which had become the British opium port in China.92 It made the first
war that had established Hong Kong as a British colony and free trade port, more than
ever, an opium war. A parliamentarian affirmed that ‘the system by which the Indian
Opium Revenue is raised is morally indefensible’. India’s reliance on opium revenue
would end only in the early twentieth century, generating regret for the opium war
far into the next century.93
The argument against the name Opium War had its supporters in Parliament, too.
And more names, other than Chinese War, were suggested to replace Opium War.
Sir Richard Temple (1826–1902) argued in 1889 that the two wars were ‘simply wars
of tariff ’ or ‘nothing but a war of commerce and international communication—and
very justly so’.94 The well-informed Tory MP Samuel Smith (1836–1906) responded:
Very well, I will try again. . . . The judgment of history has been passed upon
it, and no historian of repute now would deny that our first war was entirely an
opium war brought on by smuggling opium into China for 50 years, by defying
the Chinese edicts constantly issued against it; and by forcing this opium upon
them by traders, we at last brought on that deplorable war. The second war was
at bottom and substantially another opium war, brought on by continuing this
smuggling trade in defiance of all the edicts of the Chinese Government. I say we
gained entrance into China for opium purely by force, contrary to the convictions
of the people. Until we obtained entrance for it, opium was prohibited in China,
the Chinese Government used its whole power to suppress the growth of opium
at home, but at last it found it could not resist our pressure to legalise it, and it was
vain to attempt to suppress it at home.95
Also expressing national regret, George Lansbury (1859–1940), in 1927, claimed that
Britain had fought in China ‘five opium wars’, counting together the major wars and
skirmishes since 1839.96 Facing the rising tide of Chinese nationalism at the turn of
the twentieth century, British politicians started to realize how the opium wars were
not just a subject discussed among themselves and by the British public. The Chinese
equally regretted the wars, but they were also angry:
He sees, in the first place, the Opium Wars, and the attempts, not only of this
country but of other countries, to force opium into his country, and, for that
purpose, the securing of treaty ports and other concessions. He understands all
about the Opium Wars, and has seen the wringing of concessions and treaty ports
from his nation: and he also sees his country coming more and more under the
territorial and financial control of foreigners. He sees, too, some of the industries
and many of his cities under the control of foreigners. Not only that, but, when
he comes face to face with the conditions in such cities as Shanghai, he recognises
that they, the Chinese, have no power whatever to remedy those conditions.97
Even in the twentieth-century debate on the Vietnam War (1955–1975), a British

parliamentarian made the connection: ‘I regard it as the most indefensible war since
the Opium War.’98 Opium War became a synonym for national regret regarding war.
On the eve of the Hong Kong handover to China, most British parliamentarians
were celebrating that, under British rule, Hong Kong had changed from a barren
island to a world-renowned port. Lord Monkswell (Gerard Collier, 1947–) reminded
them, ‘I may not be a very good student of history, but I was amazed to discover that
campaigns were mounted by British armed forces to protect capitalist entrepreneurs
who were selling opium to the Chinese people. If one thinks of that in the modern
context one is absolutely horrified. Therefore, in a historical context, compared with
that portrayed over the past 20 to 50 years, Britain’s involvement in Hong Kong is not
a completely rosy picture.’99
The term Opium War, first coined in 1839, has resonated throughout history for
more than a century and a half, and its discursive power continues to hold sway.
The name was used not only in English but also translated into Chinese as Yapian
Zhanzheng, which as a naming practice contributed to the evolution in China of a
sense of humiliation and injustice, hence the growth of Chinese anti-imperialistic
patriotism. The words did not appear from nowhere but were thanks largely to the
fight between the Whig and Tory parties in 1839, which gave the pro-war and anti-
war arguments in Britain a framework supported by their respective newspapers and
journals. In this condition the name was born, and with it others would join in the
discourse espousing their various opinions, including the development of Chinese
nationalism.100
Partly because the issue of the war was opium, the anti-war campaign gained great
support. The opium trade antagonized Christian morality, and the war itself stimu-
lated opposition from the Enlightenment humanitarianism and the peace move-
ments. Both the opium trade and the war were deplored. To the anti-war groups, from
Thompson to the Peace Society to The Spectator, the war in China had to be called
the Opium War because it was caused by the immoral opium trade. The Warlike
party; merchants of London, Liverpool, Manchester, and other cities; and the Whig
government wanted the name Chinese War to replace it, but to no avail. To them
the war was about national honour and national interest as they had argued in
Canton. The war created a discourse platform in Britain for various domestic issues
and groups to argue their worldview. This discursive order was stirred up by and
entangled in the profit order envisioned by the Warlike party of Canton—topic of the
following chapter.
The war was ultimately characterized by British national regret. The shortage of
nightcaps did not materialize, but a nightmare for British identity did, as Britain
fought not one but two opium wars. On this point, the anti-war movement had a
substantial historical victory. The name Opium War encapsulated the national regret
like no other in British history. The ‘blackest’ ‘deep stain’ says it all.
8
Conclusions: Profit Orders of Canton
With its historical complexities, a prime mover can be identified in the interactions
between Britain and China in the Canton port during the years leading up to the
Opium War: the British Warlike party’s wishes to wage a war and their ability to lobby
for it. By coincidence that the opium confiscation of 1839 happened at the height of
British domestic political fights between the Whig and Tory, it eased the way for the
Warlike party to bring the British Empire’s military might to bear on the Qing Empire.
What the British merchants wanted by starting a war can be identified as to estab-
lish on the Chinese coasts a new ‘profit order’, which is defined as an economic regime
through which the creation of political order and the making of knowledge become
mutually reinforcing and that in turn gives rise to a discourse of justice in profit
making for a particular group of people.
Before the war, a Chinese profit order—the Canton system—was at work in the
port. The major interests taken care of by the system were the Qing ruling dynasty,
the high officials, and Chinese merchants. Port functionaries such as customs officers
who lived on imposing fees on the ships passing through their stations in the Pearl
River were, too, participants of this profit order, though a minor one. Ideologically,
the Canton system drew on Confucianism as its source of justification. Shrouding the
Canton port, the Confucian-based knowledge system of the bureaucrats identified
foreign merchants as the ungovernable strangers ( yi) and justified the Canton one-
port system’s trade monopoly and tight political control.
Empowered by the free trade ethos and imperial identity of being the most power-
ful nation in the world, the Warlike party envisioned a new profit order, in which
Britons would trade in the way that they saw as being British entitled them and that
they would dictate the terms of interaction instead of subject themselves to the Qing’s
ways. Creating a narrative that China was in isolation and was to be engaged with
through a war, that is, waging a war to open up China, the merchants initiated the
demolition of the Chinese profit order, and out of the ruins of the war, a new mari-
time profit order—the treaty ports—was born, as they desired and according to their
design. The clash of the war thus was a clash of two profit orders—including their
respective political arrangements, economic gains, and knowledge systems.1
Conclusions: Profit Orders of Canton 151
The Warlike party’s new knowledge of China
In signing the Treaty of Nanking in 1842, the Canton Warlike party’s victory was
not limited to persuading the British government to wage the war, winning the war,
receiving compensation for opium confiscated, reclaiming debts owed by Hong mer-
chants, and gaining the trade conditions they wanted; it also consisted in establishing
the new paradigm of British knowledge on China by which the war was justified.
China from now on was viewed from the Warlike party’s perspectives.
Even though the name Opium War sticks, history has not remembered the Pacific
party’s image of China which painted the Qing officials according to their ability to
govern and praised them for doing their duty, such as suppressing pirates. To the
Pacific party, China was just another country and Canton another port, and the trade
there was not particularly problematic. Their understanding was echoed in Britain by
the leading free trade economist of the Ricardian School, John Ramsay McCulloch,
who argued that, even with the Hong merchant system in place, for merchants,
Canton was a port as free as Liverpool or New York. This Pacific party’s alternative
image of China reveals the discursive nature of the Warlike party’s knowledge of
China. Neither has historiography remembered what The Spectator and the Northern
Star revealed: the smear campaigns led by the Warlike party and their supporters in
London that changed the primary British perception of China from peaceable China
to insular China.
What history remembers was the Warlike party’s negative representation of China.
Because trade was confined to Canton, serving the Qing’s dynastic state security needs
and not the Warlike party’s desire for ‘free trade’, the focus of history for more than a
century was on ‘insular China’. But Qing China was by no means in isolation. During
this period, it not only had intensive interactions with Asian countries, but China’s
products, such as tea, were sold into the European markets, down to the village level,
and were consumed by all walks of life in Britain. At the same time, Qing China
was absorbing the impact of opium and the opium trade. By the early nineteenth
century, every level of people’s lives in the Qing Empire was touched by the drug in
some form.2 The worlds of the East and West were deeply connected by the two com-
modities—tea and opium, together with other luxury goods—and affected by the
economic regimes to which they gave rise. Chinese and European worlds were deeply
intertwined long before the war of 1842 that allegedly opened up the isolated China.
Behind the ‘isolation’ discourse was the fact that the Warlike party wanted to
utilize other Chinese ports in addition to Canton and to have direct access—instead
of through the Hongs—to the vast Chinese market. The merchants wanted the navy
of the most powerful nation in the world to be the means to their ends of opening
China up. Thus the term ‘opening up’ did not mean opening up a ‘closed China’ but
meant in actuality employing British military power to expand and control trade.
History remembers the bureaucrats of Canton—especially the superintendent of

customs (Hoppo)—to be corrupt.3 This negative image of the Qing officialdom pro-
duced circumstantial justification for the war. Being a prebendal system in which offi-
cials were supposed to find the financial solutions to support their offices and, at the
same time, send the court a fixed amount of revenue, the Qing’s way was not designed
for the British merchants’ needs. James Fichter has argued that the prebendal system
of financing was subject to the emperor’s wishes and vulnerable to abuse, allowing
much leeway for the official in charge to line his pockets and for foreign traders to
evade the port charges. Fichter contends that this loosely managed system, in fact,
favoured the foreign traders’ wishes to avoid the taxes and to carry on their illicit
opium trade.4 The Warlike party on the one hand exploited the system for profits
and on the other argued about its corruption. The Pacific party’s admission that,
‘deceive ourselves as we please, we are smugglers’ was an attack on this hypocrisy.
In like manner, the Hong merchants were understood by the Warlike party to
be the official merchants; they being the go-betweens listened to the Qing officials’
primary concerns about state security instead of to the British merchants’ wishes.
Therefore, the Nanking Treaty abolished the Hong, enabling the British merchants to
trade with any Chinese merchant in the treaty ports. They were thus not subject to the
indirect control of the Qing’s Canton system.
Following the Warlike party’s narrative of China, the image of China brought into
focus was a China that was culturally anti-commercial. Confucianism was to blame
because its doctrine placed the merchant class at the lowest level in society, behind
the scholars, the peasants, and the artisans. This might be true in official rhetoric,
but, in everyday reality, Qing Chinese society was highly commercialized. Although
Chinese merchants’ wealth accumulation—as was that of the other three classes—was
subject to the whim of officials and the court, but the merchants, in reality, did not have
a low social status. They commonly used the money earned in business to fund their
sons’ study for the Civil Service Examination. If the son passed, the family would then
be associated with the scholar class. It was not uncommon that the two identities—
merchant and official—were in one family. Again, the real issue for the Warlike party
was that this peculiar Chinese political-economic system did not cater to their needs.
In the Warlike party’s image of China, the Qing’s tributary system came to the
forefront in explaining the Chinese ‘all under heaven’ ideology, which accepted
only tributary relationships with foreign countries. The Canton system, in fact, did
not operate under the tributary system, which had, as a prerequisite, the payment
of tribute in the court before coming to trade. Not a single merchant operating in
Canton was subject to this ritual.
The failed Macartney and Amherst embassies of 1793 and 1816 to the Qing court
that each had hoped to change the Canton monopoly, were seen by the Warlike party
as the ultimate examples of China’s anti-commerce culture and the Chinese insular
mindset at work as China rejected trading and diplomatic relations. The policy of
non-interaction for the sake of dynastic state security and the entrenched profit order
of Canton trade monopoly were actually the driving force behind the turning away
of the embassies.
The Warlike party saw the restrictions of the Canton system as evidence of a
closed China. But the system can be seen equally from the officials’ perspective as
Qing China’s effort to keep trade open under the prohibitive political climate of the
time—characterized by fear of domestic rebellion and the perceived threat of foreign-
ers joining forces with rebels. Lastly, the notion that the Chinese called the British
‘barbarian’ was assumed to encapsulate the insular, arrogant Chinese mindset—this
notion went into wide circulation after the Warlike party first made the connection
in the early 1830s.
Contrary to what the Warlike party argued and history remembers, trade in
Canton was actually largely free from governmental intervention. The tightly con-
trolled elements were the interactions that had political implications, that is, those
other than trading activities per se. Officials involved themselves very little in the
trade, and neither did they regulate the market. At most, they forbade the exporting
of gold and silver, limited the amount of silk foreigners could buy, and banned the
import of opium. These did not affect the general trade structure in Canton, for not
only the ban was limited in scope but also the prohibition policies were never prop-
erly implemented. The Warlike party failed to realize that trade and the market in
Canton, in its actual operation, was not far from free trade, according to the argument
of David Ricardo, as McCulloch had pointed out in his Dictionary.
The Warlike party’s attacks on the Qing’s profit order were first directed at its
knowledge system starting in the early 1830s. The Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge in China was a major affront while minor attacks—such as the ‘Prize
Essay’ that spread free trade doctrines, Gützlaff ’s Chinese narrators who wrote of
the utopian England, and missionaries’ tract distribution that spread Christianity—
also occurred. The war on knowledge and information waged by the merchants
and missionaries took place before the military action of 1839 and was part of its
formation.
In sum, the unfavourable historical images of China were first developed in the
Canton British maritime public sphere by the Warlike party. Behind their desire to
expand trade lay free trade discourse and the British imperial identity. Their public
campaign for a war made their knowledge of China widespread, and their war victory
changed British knowledge of China. The Warlike party’s ‘we’ narrative become the
narrative of historiography, and the Warlike party assumed the position of being the
sovereign master in the history of the encounters.
The Qing Empire and the war
Deconstructing the Warlike party’s knowledge of China is not to argue that Qing
China was an innocent party in starting the war. On the contrary, the Canton system
was a profit order serving a particular group’s interests, and the Qing played a major
part in bringing about the military confrontation of 1839. The Canton system was at
the centre of the conflict, although it was not in the way the Warlike party described.
After having enjoyed a market-induced trade monopoly during the previous
decades, the Canton lobby, in the years between 1755 and 1759, secured an imperi-
ally sanctioned trade monopoly. In the process they accentuated the dynastic mari-
time state security argument. But the state security consideration was not entirely an
invention of the Canton lobby. Rather, they brought forward this question in an envi-
ronment where European expansion in the East was growing, coupled with the Qing’s
increasingly negative perception of the Europeans. Thus, interactions were, starting
in the late 1750s, to be systematically regulated to prevent Europeans from learning
about any aspect of the empire and, more importantly, to prevent Qing subjects from
mingling with foreigners, lest its subjects and foreigners exchanged thoughts and
ideas leading to rebellion.
As the Pacific party pointed out in 1837, this Canton system did work for the Qing:
with India ‘now totally annihilated and merged in the British Empire we must not be
astonished to find the Court at Peking resolved not to deviate from a line of policy
which has been hitherto so eminently successful’.5 After the Battle of Plassey in 1757,
the British East India Company for the sake of trade began its rule in Bengal, a control
that would soon expand to most of India. Coincidentally, 1757 was the year the Qing
state institutionalized the Canton system of controlling interactions between its sub-
jects and Europeans.
The long and complex process of British rule in India can be traced back retro-
spectively even further to Thomas Roe’s (1581–1644) embassy to the Moghul Empire
between 1615 and 1619, during which the British first obtained the right to establish a
trading quarter in Surat. And two decades later the British would acquire rights from
the Indian authorities in 1639 to build Fort St George (later developed into Madras)
and, in 1690, Fort William (later to become Calcutta).6 Had the British come to China
to request the same kind of rights during the second half of the seventeenth century,
it would not have been impossible for them to acquire some form of privilege under
the reign of the Kangxi emperor, especially in his early years on the throne. But this
did not happen because China was yet to become the EIC’s major trading concern
and the volume of tea trade was not as big and important to the EIC as it would be
in the second half of the eighteenth century. The Dutch and Spanish, who had earlier
requested a trading foothold from the Ming, were by this time relatively content with
their China trade through Chinese sojourners in Batavia and Manila. Also, by the
early eighteenth century, the Spanish and Dutch maritime empires, along with the
Portuguese, were weakening, while the British dominated the maritime trade of
the East. And, above all, in China there were four ports opened after 1683, allow-
ing Europeans to trade freely, to an extent. The incentive for the British to send an
embassy to Kangxi’s court was minimal.
While the Moghul Empire was fast disintegrating, affording the EIC opportunity
to develop its control over India, the Qing in the mid-eighteenth and early nineteenth
century had a strong bureaucracy to implement the policy of non-intercourse against
the real and perceived threat of British expansion in the East, thus maintaining a
Chinese profit order in Canton.
After a half century of operation, the state security procedure that the dynasty
had built into its bureaucratic control in Canton came to be mechanical, while its
justification via Confucian discourse had become the accepted wisdom among its
bureaucrats. The Canton system as an institution grew rigid in the early nineteenth
century: officials were not to be seen, while the Hong merchants were, in reality, part
of the bureaucratic system in maintain a status quo.
This Canton system determined how the Qing understood foreigners. When
Commissioner Lin arrived in Canton in 1839, among the first things he did was to
collect information on the Westerners in order to implement opium prohibition.
He was able to think and act outside of the conventional bureaucracy because he
had been sent to Canton with a special mission, instead of a regular Canton appoint-
ment. He knew there was insufficient knowledge of Europeans for him to devise a
sound policy. Though great, Lin’s efforts were in vain; he had little chance to properly
understand the British, who were for years talking about war against China right
on the doorstep of Canton, with not a single Chinese having a clue. The soft border,
erected in the form of an information barrier, more than anything else prevented the
Qing from learning the true British state of affairs. There was no proper context for
Lin to comprehend the wishes of the British private merchants, let alone the domestic
party politics of Britain. The publications of the SDUKC and other translated works
could help Lin understand only the geography of the West and the characteristics of
the British merchants in Canton, nothing beyond.
The success of the Canton system created an institutional inertia that allowed
China to deal with Europeans only within the system. The bureaucrats did not want
to know and deal with Europeans in any other way. In sharp contrast to the Qing’s
disinterest and lack of understanding of the British, the British private merchants
in the 1830s knew China well enough to devise a sound war plan to supply to the
politicians in London, which was crucial in starting the war. The Qing’s policy of
containment in the mid-eighteenth century stemmed from a shrewd understanding
of internal and external threats to the dynasty’s state security, but it backfired; the soft
border built up in the process ultimately increased the danger by blinding the Qing
bureaucrats to the external threat they faced. The Qing state’s control in the form of
the Canton system was a knife that cut both ways: it enabled control of Europeans
coming ashore but was, at the same time, the Qing’s undoing.
It would take another three decades and the Second Opium War, which brought
foreign troops to the gates of the capital, Beijing, for Qing bureaucrats to grasp the
military strength of Europeans and the necessity of reform, first in the military and
economic spheres and then in the political system, in the last few years of the Qing
dynasty at the turn of the twentieth century, even though the Canton system had
been abolished in 1842. It took more than a half century to dislodge the institutional
inertia created by the Canton system and to undo the knowledge of foreigners and
China’s foreign relationships that the system produced. The institution of the Canton
system—not the ‘all under heaven’ ideology or tributary system—made the Qing
unable to comprehend the Europeans. And this Canton system of trade, political
control, and knowledge making—a profit order—was the Qing’s contribution to the
First Opium War.
Opium war and opium regimes
As Timothy Brook and other historians have argued, after the First Opium War, the
unofficial opium imports into China expanded exponentially and gave rise to various
opium regimes during the hundred years after 1842. Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist
party, other warlords of the Republican China, colonial governments of British South
East Asia, Chinese overseas underworld communities in South East Asia under
British rule, and the Japanese colonial governments which thrived in the opium
business in Chinese treaty ports and in their Taiwan colony were the major ‘opium
regimes’ created. They relied on the illicit trade and production for revenue, which in
turn were the source of their political power.7
The single biggest opium regime was the British Empire. After the First Opium
War, the British India government depended more than ever on opium revenue for
its day-to-day administration. James Hevia argued that, in order to keep it afloat,
the British Empire became a ‘global drug cartel’.8 The world order created by opium
trade in the East in this period was similar to the sugar trade that empowered an
Atlantic world order involving the slave trade, the cotton trade, and the plantation
economy.9
Before 1842, the opium trade did not contribute as much to the revenue of the
British India government. The British Empire only acquired a ‘drug dependency’ in
the second half of the nineteenth century.10 To be sure, the British government did
not go to war in 1839 to defend the opium trade, although the demand for compen-
sation for the opium destroyed by Commissioner Lin was part of the war agenda
and the merchants who lobbied for waging the war were mostly opium traders. The
war became truly an opium war mostly in the conditions created after the war that
enabled the spawning of the opium regimes. The opium regimes established after the
war were linked up by the trade to become a gigantic global profit order, and the war
made a significant contribution to its invention.
Similarly, but in a much small scale, the unofficial opium trade in the Chinese
coasts before 1842 was part of the profit-making mechanism of the Qing ruling
classes. While the court routinely issued prohibitions against the opium trade and the
abuse of opium, local officials received bribes to turn a blind eye. The wealth gained
from the opium trade was enjoyed not only by the lower officials directly involved but
also by the high bureaucrats, as money travelled up, contributing to the paralysis of
the Qing government.
British private merchants were not the only group of people who contributed
to the political-economic order created by opium and the opium regimes. In addi-
tion to the Qing officials, as British private merchants rightly pointed out, Chinese
smugglers carried out the last leg of the opium trade into Chinese markets. But this
did not diminish the role played by the private merchants in creating this sub-trade
order, an order of profits that loomed large in triggering the war. The Opium War
thus created not only the legal trade of the treaty ports but also played a role in the
making of the opium regimes—one replaced the Canton system and the other was a
continuation of the opium smuggling trade at Lintin.
The state and merchant
Britain’s closely woven state-merchant relationship in the China trade after 1839 was
not new; the British state was predisposed to the merchant sector’s mobilization. The
trade-nation identity was well established as early as the mid-sixteenth century and
partly explains the failure of the pacific Britons’ efforts in stopping the war. As argued
in Chapter 7, before and during the war, the anti-war groups in Britain were firm in
their stand against opium smuggling; they saw the war as morally indefensible. But
after the war was won, in the peace meetings of Dublin, for instance, even though
the protestors were still outraged by the war and the opium trade, people were also
overjoyed thinking about the trade prospects created by the peace treaty. When this
elation combined with the free trade ideology, imperial expansion of trade through
war was even less an issue for debate.
What the campaign and lobby for war, and later the war itself, did was to bring the
discourse of the British free trade empire to bear on Britain’s relations with China.
In other words, the Warlike party successfully brought Britain’s China trade into the
orbit of the British imperial order, with the newly added vigour of free trade dis-
course. As Palmerston told the Earl of Auckland during the war, ‘The new markets in
China will at no distant period give a most important extension to the range of our
foreign commerce.’ The British state power holders were, by now, actively helping the
merchants’ search for wealth in China.
Once the floodgate was opened, China could be engaged in war; two more wars
would be waged by Britain: the Second Opium War and the Boxer War of 1900, and
several other wars by European countries. And after 1842 British representatives in
China, in the capacity of consuls (and chargé d’affaires after 1861), worked closely
with the British merchant community, catering to their needs in the China trade,
although it was a relationship filled with contradictions and conflicts.
During the EIC days, the Court of Directors was able to mobilize the British state
to send two embassies to China on behalf of the company to request formal state
relations to safeguard trade. Albeit in a different form, what the British private mer-
chants achieved in 1839 was a continuation of the EIC: the state and the merchant
sectors worked hand in hand in creating a trade empire. Because of its informal rela-
tions with the state, in order to bring in the aid of the state for their aim of creating
a new profit order, the private merchants had to develop new British knowledge of
China. Conducting their public campaign for five years along with lobbying with the
ministers, they took the relation to the level of war.
Compared to the British state-merchant relationship, it was inconceivable that the
Qing imperial state would go to war for trade expansion. In general, the Chinese
merchants’ political—not social—status under the Confucian state ideology was low
in regard to their ability to be involved directly in the political power sharing of the
empire. China’s South East Asian trade, in which they first encountered the Europeans,
was set in this context of a relatively weak, if not negative, state-merchant relation-
ship. The Chinese coastal people’s trade to Nanyang (South East Asia) was subject
to and periodically disrupted by the political climate of the court. Prohibitions on
ships going to sea, on Chinese junk trading to Nanyang, and on Qing subjects trav-
elling there were issued periodically. Even though the trade continued under these
conditions, the prohibitions did limit and interrupt interactions. Wang Gungwu
termed this situation, in contrast to the British, as ‘merchants without empire’.11
When the Qianlong emperor, in 1741, read the report on the massacre of 1740,
in which more than 10,000 Chinese had been killed in Batavia the year before, his
comment was that they deserved to die for they had voluntarily left China proper—
the cultured country. In comparison, the Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, and British
merchants were helped by their respective states in their trade expansion in South
East Asia, if the state itself was not the merchant, paving the way for later colonial
control. The European maritime empires would have seen the massacre in Batavia as a
just course for starting a war, but certainly the Qing did not. China was moving along
a different track of economic-political establishment from that of the Europeans.
The Canton system was unique within the context of Qing merchant-state rela-
tions. It was, perhaps, the furthest the Chinese merchants could come to mobilizing
the Qing state in their desire to pursue wealth. The co-operation among local mer-
chants, provincial officials, and court officials in the second half of the 1750s secured
Canton’s monopoly in European trade. But this Qing state-merchant relation differed
significantly from the EIC monopoly. For one thing, Hongs were heavily burdened by
the dynastic state’s security directives and were at the mercy of the bureaucrats and
the court. The state-merchant relationship in Canton was one of control and submis-
sion, including control of foreigners.
By 1755, after more than a century of empire-building in and from China proper
after its first conquest in 1644, the Qing dynasty’s and the bureaucrats’ survival and
prosperity were tightly bound together. From the imperial perspective, the Canton
system assuaged the political security fears of the Manchurian and Chinese ruling
classes and, at the same time, allowed them to extract profits from the Canton mari-
time trade. The coastal peoples outside of Canton, who had a long tradition and
history of maritime trade, were shut out from earning profit from the European trade.
Putting the Chinese and British Empires side by side, the comparison is revealing.
The Canton lobby’s desire for monopolizing the European trade together with the
imperial state security fears shaped the formation of the Canton system on the Chinese
side. Behind the Canton system and the Confucianist discourse were the interests
of the Qing dynasty, its bureaucrats, and the Canton merchants. On the British
side, the British imperial identity and the free trade doctrines shaped the Warlike
party’s understanding of Chinese-British relations and a desire for starting a war—
first knowledge and then military. Hidden in the Warlike party’s rhetoric of national
interest and national honour was the profit-making agenda of the British mer-
chants and politicians. Discourse was bonded to interests on both the Chinese and
British sides.
The Canton system from 1757 for the next eighty-five years dictated China’s per-
ception of and relations with the Europeans—in particular their knowledge of the
British. The Warlike party in response to the restriction of the Canton system, and
with free trade and imperial identity at the backdrop, produced a new knowledge
about China, which became, for more than a century after 1842, the viewpoint in
understanding China and China’s historical foreign relations.
Thus, this book reinterprets the First Opium War as follows: the British Empire,
at a pivotal moment, adopted the Warlike party’s desire for profit as its major driving
force to confront an entrenched profit order—the Canton system—that was propped
up by the Qing Empire, which had a stake in it in terms of both profit and state
security. Behind the interstate conflict were the Qing’s vested interests in the old profit
order and the British interests to create a new profit order. Profit order was central to
the Chinese-British encounter in Canton, which during the hundred years from the
mid-eighteenth century was arguably the most dynamic wealth-creating port in the
maritime trading world.
Acknowledgements
It took ten years to finish this book, too long for me to be able to thank everyone who
has contributed to it. My colleagues in Nanyang Technological University (NTU)
Singapore have been most generous in providing support at the later stages of the
book. Gregor Benton read the full manuscript. His encouragement gave me the
much-needed push to get the book published. Without him I might not have finished
this book as it is. I am especially grateful to Evelyn Hu-Dehart, who suggested the
final book title on top of much practical advice and help. She is the most generous of
colleagues. Scott Anthony, Els Van Dongen, and Lisa Onaga read parts of the book.
I am thankful for their comments. Salvatore Babones read the full manuscript with
great attention to the detail and the logic of my arguments. I greatly appreciate his
kind help. Some of the research was done while I was working as a postdoctoral fellow
at Bristol University. My former colleagues there, especially Maurizio Marinelli and
Jeffrey Henderson, were generous in giving their time and advice. My special thanks
to Robert Bickers, who has been supportive and has given many advice on academic
and research matters on different occasions. I cannot thank more Susan Daruvala and
Hans van de Ven, under whose supervision in Cambridge this project began. They
were the best advisors one could wish for. Their broad knowledge greatly enriched
my exploration of modern Chinese history and their confidence in me inspired me
to make a career as a historian. Conversations with Yuan Jing on several occasions
over the years gave me much insight into modern China and its historical trajectory.
His introduction and letters gave me access to the First Historical Archives of China,
where I was able to uncover key documents used in this research. Lars Laamann
has been the most helpful colleague. His faith in the value of the work accompanied
my research all along the way. The late Sir Christopher Alan Bayly gave insightful
advice in exploring how the British public understood the Opium War. The result
is Chapter 7 of this book. His kindness and hunger for knowledge inspired genera-
tions of students, including me. John Carroll, who shares my interest in the history
of Canton, generously lent his digitalized Canton Register and Canton Press, making
revisions of the book much easier, especially when I was writing while travelling. This
book also benefited from advice of Kenneth Pomeranz, whom I have never met but
162 Acknowledgements
with whom I briefly exchanged emails when I submitted a paper to Journal of Global
History. His questions posed to the paper are now—I hope—answered by this book.
Zhu Marlon, George Kam Wah Mak, Jerry Chang, Kaori Abe, and Lily Chang spent
time forwarding source materials that otherwise I would not have been able to access.
My thanks also to the many people with whom I have conversed about this project,
or who have been generous with their time and advice on academic matters. The list
is long and includes T. H. Barrett, Anne Gerritsen, Toby Lincoln, Zhen Yangwen,
Naomi Standen, Rebecca Nedostup, Caroline Reeves, Stacey Hynd, Elizabeth
Elbourne, Sascha Auerbach, Joe P. McDermott, Zhang Ling, C. K. Lai, Chloë Starr,
Nicolas Standaert, Felix Boecking, Vicki Chiu, Chen Szu-Chi, Tan Chee Lay, Isabella
Jackson, Hirata Koji, Jon Howlett, Kwong Chi Man, Christian Hess, Julia Lovell,
Michael Szonyi, Michel Hockx, Andrea Janku, Mark C. Elliott, Li Yi, Yu Po-ching,
Hallam Stevens, Sandra Khor Manikam, Jessica Hinchy, Park Hyung Wook, Miles
Powell, Donna Brunero, Goh Geok Yian, Venus Viana, Koh Keng We, Alan Chan,
K. K. Luke, and S. R. Joey Long. I am most grateful to the two anonymous readers
for their comments and advice. Your understanding and kind words made me feel all
the effort worthwhile. Benjamin Charlton read nearly every edition of the chapters
and made numerous suggestions over the years. I thank him as a proofreader and a
great friend.
This project received financial support from the Prince of Wales Cambridge
International Scholarship and the UK Economic and Social Research Council.
The wonderful NTU postdoctoral fellowship gave me funding to visit archives and
allowed me time to concentrate on writing. I also want to thank the Jardine Matheson
Archives and Cambridge Library for granting me access to their rich archives that
made this research possible. Liu Hong in the capacity of chair of NTU’s School of
Humanities and Social Sciences has been most helpful in finding funding for the
purchase of books and published archives for the project. Staff of the HSS Library
and Chinese Library of NTU, especially Ng Kiak Peng and Ruan Yang, provided
much help. Your swift responses sped up everything. Lastly, my special thanks to
Richard Tucker, who has been most supportive while this book was gradually taking
shape: this is our project.
Notes
Prologue
1. Correspondence Relating to China, pp. 446–47.
2 Chang, Commissioner Lin, p. 202; Hanes and Sanello, Opium Wars, p. 66; Lovell, Opium
War, p. 93.
3. Fay, Opium War, p. 213; Melancon, Britain’s China Policy.
Chapter One
1. Register 4:21 (1 Nov 1831).
2. Register 3:13 (3 July 1830).
3. ‘The most powerful nation in the world’ was an idea often found in the Register. For
instance, see ‘To the Editor of the Canton Register’, 8:11 (17 Mar 1835). ‘National honour’
was also a term commonly used in the Register. For example, see 3:24 (4 Dec 1830),
4:13 (4 July 1831), 5:10 (18 July 1832), 6:18 (5 Dec 1833), 7:17 (29 Apr 1834), 8:11 (17 Mar
1835), and 9:6 (9 Feb 1836).
4. Marshall and Williams, Great Map of Mankind, pp. 81–82.
5. Other examples of major articles related to war arguments in the Register include 6:5
(13 Apr 1833), 7:50 (16 Dec 1834), 8:14 (7 Apr 1835), and 9:39 (27 Sept 1836).
6. Register 4:16 (15 Aug 1831). Other similar arguments related to China’s vast market can
be found in Register 1:18 (3 May 1828), 3:25 (18 Dec 1830), 4:16 (15 Aug 1831), 5:1 (2 Jan
1832), 7:25 (24 June 1834), 8:2 (13 Jan 1835), 8:2 (13 Jan 1835), and 7:39 (30 Sept 1834).
7. Markley, Far East and English Imagination, p. 15.
8. For progressive argument, see, for instance, Martin, Awakening of China, pp. 155–56;
Pott, Sketch of Chinese History, p. 134; Morse, International Relations, vol. 1, pp. 253–54;
Graham, Chinese Station, p. 18. For the opium argument, see, for instance, Fairbank, Trade
and Diplomacy, p. 65; Collis, Foreign Mud; Chang, Commissioner Lin, p. 15; Fay, Opium
War, p. 193; Beeching, Chinese Opium Wars.
9. Marshall and Williams, Great Map of Mankind, pp. 22–23 and pp. 85–86. Marshall and
Williams noticed the paradigm shift but did not go into the details of how and why.
10. Jardine Matheson Archive, Cambridge University Library (hereafter, JM), B2/7, letters
to and from Captain John Rees; ‘Voyage of the Sylph’ in Register 6:7 (18 May 1833),
6:8 (31 May 1833), 6:9 (17 June 1833), 6:12 (5 Aug 1833), and 6:13 and 6:14 (16 Sept 1833).
11. For Matheson’s meeting with Palmerston, see Register 9:21 (24 May 1836). For Jardine’s,
see PRO, FO 17/35 (26 and 27 Oct 1839); and JM, B6/10, L2240 and 2251.
164 Notes to pp. 4–13
12. Palmerston to J. A. Smith, Nov. 28, 1842, quoted from Fairbank, Trade and Diplomacy,
p. 83.
13. Fay, Opium War, p. 193; Chang, Commissioner Lin, p. 191.
14. Register 6:12 (5 Aug 1833).
15. For an account of the Canton Press, see King and Clark (eds.), Research Guide, pp. 46–48.
16. Turner, British Opium Policy, p. 84; Pott, Sketch of Chinese History, p. 134; Purcell, China,
pp. 53–54. Melancon argued against it; see Britain’s China Policy, pp. 133–34.
17. The articles that best summarize this school’s thought are in the edited volume Fairbank
(ed.), Chinese World Order.
18. Martin, Awakening of China, pp. 155–56; Pott, Sketch of Chinese History, p. 134; Morse,
International Relations, vol. 1, pp. 253–54; Graham, Chinese Station, p. 18; Fairbank, Trade
and Diplomacy, p. 65.
19. Gelber, Opium, Soldiers and Evangelicals; Melancon, Britain’s China Policy.
20. Collis, Foreign Mud; Chang, Commissioner Lin, p. 15; Fay, Opium War, p. 193; Beeching,
Chinese Opium Wars; Lovell, Opium War.
21. For instance, Hevia, ‘Opium, Empire, and Modern History’.
22. Marion, Bases and Empire, pp. 77–78; Greenberg, British Trade, p. 195; Platt, Finance,
Trade, and Politics, pp. 265–67; Purcell, China, p. 54; Cain and Hopkins, ‘Political
Economy of British Expansion Overseas’.
23. Polachek, Inner Opium War, pp. 125–35; Mao, Tianchao de bengkui, p. 124.
24. Some key works redressing the relations between British imperial metropolis and
periphery: Bayly, Imperial Meridian, and Empire and Information; and Wilson (ed.), New
Imperial History.
25. For works on British perceptions of China, see for example, Kitson, Forging Romantic
China; Poter, Ideographia and Chinese Taste; Hayot, Hypothetical Mandarin; Hillemann,
Asian Empire and British Knowledge and Forman, China and the Victorian Imagination.
26. The 1835 figures are taken from ‘To the Editor of the Canton Press’, Press 1:6 (17 Oct
1835). Greenberg provided the 1834 figures; see British Trade, p. 185. The 1837 numbers
can be found in Repository 5:9 (Jan 1837), p. 432. After 1837, the Repository provided
a yearly census of Canton. In terms of sailors, the record in 1832 shows there were
around 1,700 British sailors in twenty-five ships, 240 Americans in fifteen ships, and
50 Netherlanders with two ships. See Repository 1:6 (Oct 1832), p. 243.
Chapter Two
1. Press 1:21 (30 Jan 1836); Crito is a chapter of Dialogues of Plato on justice and injustice.
The trader seemed to use this pseudonym to make a statement that the Warlike party in
advocating the war did not do justice to China.
2. ‘To the Editor of the Canton Press’, Register 9:5 (2 Feb 1836).
3. Press 1:21 (30 Jan 1836).
4. Register 4:12 (18 June 1831).
5. Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 22–24.
6. For ships to Australia, see JM, B1/3, I28/1, I28/3, and K10; see also Greenberg, British
Trade, pp. 94–96.
7. For an account of the agency system, see Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 144–52.
8. For cotton trade, see ibid., pp. 88–92.
Notes to pp. 13–17 165
9. Silverman, ‘Fifty of the Wealthiest People’; Crossen, The Rich and How They Got That Way,
pp. 172–90; Leitch, ‘Green, John Cleve’; Hall, America’s Successful Men of Affairs, p. 280.
10. Grace, ‘Jardine, William’, ‘Matheson, Sir (Nicholas) James Sutherland, First Baronet
(1796–1878)’, and Opium and Empire; Bruce, Scottish 100, pp. 27–30.
11. Greenburg, British Trade; see pp. 84–86 for the post–Napoleonic era trade expansion,
p. 142 for trade balance between 1829 and 1940.
12. Ibid.; see p. 13 for trading figures in 1830, p. 50 for opium constituting two-thirds of
imports, p. 104 for opium as largest commodity.
13. Greenburg, British Trade, p. 118 for opium like gold, p. 185 for Jardine, Matheson & Co.
See also Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, pp. 8–36.
14. For Daoguang’s anti-opium campaign of 1820, see QDWJSL-DG, juan 1, 10–12.
15. For Lintin opium and unofficial trade, see Morse, International Relations, pp. 178–84 and
Greenburg, British Trade, pp. 49–50, 112–13, 136, and 196.
16. Register 7:5 (4 Feb 1834), italics in original.
17. For Jardine and Matheson, see Blake, Jardine Matheson, pp. 30–41; Keswick, Thistle and
the Jade, p. 18.
18. Register, 8:21 (26 May 1835), also in Greenberg, British Trade, p. 94.
19. For Medical Missionary Society, see Register 9:42 (18 Oct 1836). For subscription for
Scotland, see Press 3:24 (17 Feb 1837). For Morrison Education Society and the library in
honouring Morrison, see Register 10:18 (2 May 1837), 10:31 (1 Aug 1837), 11:10 (6 Mar
1838), 11:28 (10 July 1838); and Press 2:34 (29 Apr 1837), 2:47 (29 July 1837), 3:12 (25 Nov
1837), 3:26 (3 Mar 1837), 3:32 (14 Apr 1838). For the Ophthalmic Hospital, see Register
9:8 (23 Feb 1836), 9:11 (15 Mar 1836), 9:23 (7 Jun 1836), 9:49 (13 Dec 1836), 10:10 (7 Mar
1837), 11:6 (6 Feb 1838); and Press 1:27 (12 Mar 1836), 2:3 (17 Sept 1836), 2:11 (19 Nov
1836), 2:17 (31 Dec 1836), 2:42 (24 June 1837), 3:23 (10 Feb 1837).
20. For the seamen’s hospital, see Register 8:4 (27 Jan 1835), 8:7 (17 Feb 1835), 8:24 (16 June
1835), 8:25 (23 June 1835), 9:39 (27 Sept 1836), 9:48 (29 Nov 1836), 11:1 (2 Jan 1837),
11:15 (10 Apr 1838), 11:26 (26 Jun 1838); and Press 1:44 (9 July 1836), 1:47 (30 July 1836),
1:45 (16 July 1836), 1:51 (27 Aug 1836), 2:1 (10 Sept 1836), 2:7 (22 Oct 1836), 3:32 (14 Apr
1838), 3:37 (19 May 1838), 3:40 (9 June 1838), 3:42 (23 June 1838), 3:44 (7 July 1838).
21. Markwick and Lane sub-rented the space from Charles Magniac; see JM, F14/1.
22. The information about Markwick & Lane is gathered from the Canton Register: for the
books, see Register 8:1 (6 Jan 1835); for the post office, see Register 7:31 (5 Aug 1834); for
the banquet held in the hotel, see Register 7:48 (2 Dec 1834); for the subscription list to
the hospital, see Register 7:1 (7 Jan 1834); for Horsburgh’s chart, see Register 7:3 (21 Jan
1834); for public meeting, see Register 9:47 (22 Nov 1836); for Chamber of Commerce
meetings, see Register 9:47 (22 Nov 1836), 9:48 (29 Nov 1836); for the Canton Register
box, Register 8:28 (14 July 1835). For other issues related to the company, see Register 7:48
(2 Dec 1834), 7:3 (21 Jan 1834), 8:28 (14 July 1835), 9:47 (22 Nov 1836), and 9:48 (29 Nov
1836). Markwick & Lane advertised in the Register regularly, for instance, Register 2:10
(26 May 1829), 2:11 (2 June 1829), 3:6 (17 Mar 1830), 4:22 (15 Nov 1831), and 9:40 (4 Oct
1836). The Register was based at No. 3 Creek Hong, annual subscription fee twelve dollars;
see Register supplement (17 Oct 1832).
23. For the Napier Affair, see Fay, Opium War, pp. 67–79; Beeching, Chinese Opium Wars,
pp. 40–62; and Hunter, Fan Kwae, pp. 127–32. For the account of Lord Napier by the
Canton foreign community, see the Canton Register issues between June and December
1834. For the Chinese accounts of Napier and related edicts by the Qing authorities, see
Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 2, pp. 1–34.
24. Press 1:21 (30 Jan 1836).
25. Register 7:41 (14 Oct 1834) and 7:42 (21 Oct 1834). For the black outlining, see Colley,
Britons, p. 220.
26. Register 7:32 (12 Aug 1834), 7:35 (2 Sept 1834), and 8:39 (29 Sept 1835).
27. ‘To the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in Council’, Register 7:52 supplement (30 Dec
1834).
28. For Waterloo Dinners and reference to them, see Canton Register 3:13 (3 July 1830), 6:6
(3 May 1833), 7:25 (24 June 1834), 9:30 (26 July 1836), 9:46 (15 Nov 1836), 10:35 (29 Aug
1837). For the birthday dinner, see, for instance, Register 7:35 (2 Sept 1834). For corona-
tion, see Register 10:47 (21 Nov 1837), 10:48 (28 Nov 1837), 10:49 (5 Dec 1837); Press 3:12
(25 Nov 1837).
29. For research on Scottish celebration in India, see Buettner, ‘Haggis in the Raj’.
30. Register 7:48 (2 Dec 1834), 8:48 (1 Dec 1835); Press 1:13 (5 Dec 1835), 3:13 (2 Dec
1837).
31. For an account of the print media, see King and Clark (eds.), Research Guide, pp. 41–48.
32. ‘European Periodicals beyond the Ganges’, Repository 5:4 (Aug 1836), p. 146. For a list of
Indian newspapers, see Barns, Indian Press, pp. 466–68; and Ogborn, Indian Ink.
33. Register 1:10 (8 Mar 1828).
34. The Hobart Town Courier, 13 September 1828.
35. For newspaper publication of this period, see Barker, Newspapers and English Society.
36. Asiatic Journal, April 1834.
37. Anderson, Imagined Communities.
38. Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants, pp. 145 and 263–71; Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 210
and 207–8.
39. JM, C5/2, p. 1.
40. Indo Chinese Gleaner, no. 3 (Feb 1818).
41. King and Clarke, Research Guide, p. 41.
42. ‘European Periodicals beyond the Ganges’, Repository 5:4 (Aug 1836), pp. 147–50. This is
also recorded in Andrews, History of British Journalism, vol. 2, p. 314.
43. ‘European Periodicals beyond the Ganges’, Chinese Repository 5:4 (Aug 1836), pp. 159–60.
44. For British local newspapers in the making of British identity, see Colley, Britons, p. 41.
45. Register 1:2 (15 Nov 1827).
46. Ibid.
47. JM, B2/2, p. 44.
48. For the Chinese record of the quay incident, see QDWJSL-DG, juan 4, pp. 43–49, and
Liang (ed.), Yue haiguan zhi, juan 27, pp. 1–15; a summary is in Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi,
vol. 1, pp. 346–51.
49. For English record of the quay incident, see Register 4:10 (13 May 1831, extra 26 May
1831), 4:11 (6 June 1831), 4:12 (18 June 1831), 4:13 (4 July 1831), 4:14 (15 July 1831);
IOR, G/12/246, passim; a summary of the EIC account is in Morse, Chronicles, vol. 4,
pp. 278–92; quotation ‘To His Excellency the Governor, the Fooyuen, the Hoppo’,
in Morse, Chronicles, vol. 4, p. 301.
50. Register 4:14 (15 July 1831).
51. Morse, Chronicles, vol. 4, pp. 283–84.
52. Register 4:11 (6 June 1831).
53. For the Register’s discussion of women in Canton after this case, see 4:10 (13 May 1831),
4:13 (4 July 1831), 5:4 (16 Feb 1832), 5:5 (8 Mar 1832), 7:24 (17 June 1834), 7:50 (16 Dec
1834), 8:22 (2 June 1835).
54. For the Register’s report on Xie’s case, see 4:2 (17 Jan 1831), 4:10 (13 May 1831), Register
extra (26 May 1831), 4:11 (6 June 1831), 4:14 (15 July 1831), 4:15 (2 Aug 1831).
55. For the Mrs Baynes incident, see JM/C4/1, pp. 59–60, 77, 159. For the EIC’s record, see
IOR, FO, G/12/244, passim; for Morse’s summary, Chronicles, vol. 4, pp. 278–92. For the
Chinese record, see Liang, Yue Haiguan zhi, juan 27, pp. 1–15; and QDWJSL-DG, juan 4,
p. 40. For Guo’s summary, Jindai Zhongguo shi, pp. 406–29.
56. For the new regulations, see QDWJSL-DG, juan 4, pp. 40–42.
57. For petition against the new regulations, see PRO, FO1048/31/43-48.
58. For the reaction of foreigners, see Register 3:21 (16 Oct 1830), 3:23 (15 Nov 1830), 3:24
(4 Dec 1830), 4:3 (2 Feb 1831), 4:11(6 June 1831), 4:14 (15 July 1831), 4:15 (2 Aug 1831),
4:16 (15 Aug 1831), 4:17 (2 Sept 1831), 4:19 (1 Oct 1831), 4:23 (1 Dec 1831), 4:24 (19 Dec
1831), 5:1 (2 Jan 1832), 5:1 (2 Jan 1832), 5:17 (3 Nov 1832), 6:2 (24 Jan 1833), 7:52 (30 Dec
1834).
59. ‘British Subjects in China: To the Editor of the Canton Register’, Register 4:13 (4 July 1831).
60. ‘To the Editor’, Register 4:14 (15 July 1831).
61. ‘To the Editor of the Canton Gazette’, Register 4:15 (2 Aug 1831).
62. ‘Treatment of Foreigners’, Register 4:16 (15 Aug 1831).
63. ‘China’, Singapore Chronicle and Commercial Register, 3 November 1831. These Singapore
Chronicle and Bengal Hurkaru reports were quoted by the Register; see Register 4:10
(13 May 1831), and 6:5 (13 Apr 1833). For discussion in London of the incident, see, for
example, The Times, 15 March, 12 April, 31 October, and 10 November 1831; and Bell’s
Weekly Messenger, no. 1858 (13 Nov 1831).
64. Brown, Board of Trade and Free Trade.
65. Schonhardt-Bailey, Rise of Free Trade, vol. 1, p. 12; Cain and Hopkins, ‘Political Economy
of British Expansion Overseas’.
66. Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 175–84. For the rise of the Manchester merchants, see
Philips, East India Company, pp. 276–98; and Redford, Manchester Merchants and Foreign
Trade. For how free trade affected British perception of China, see Tsao, ‘Representing
China to the British Public in the Age of Free Trade’.
67. Grant’s praise of the Register was in his bill to Parliament concerning the EIC Charter; see
Register 6:19 and 20 (26 Dec 1833).
68. ‘Free Trade with China’, Register 7:25 (24 June 1834); ‘Free Trade to All the Ports of the
Chinese Empire’ Register 7:48 (2 Dec 1834); ‘Free Trade to All the Ports of the Chinese
Empire’, Register 7:50 (16 Dec 1834).
69. Register 7:17 (29 Apr 1834).
70. Register 7:39 (30 Sept 1834), italics added.
71. Register 7:39 (30 Sept 1834), italics in original.
72. Other issues of the Register that directly talked about free trade: 1:31 (9 Aug 1828), 7:25
(24 June 1834), 7:26 (17 June 1834), 7:26 (1 July 1834), 7:27 (8 July 1834), 7:29 (22 July
1834), 7:30 (29 July 1834), 7:48 (2 Dec 1834), 8:2 (13 Jan 1835), 8:19 (12 May 1835), 9:49
(6 Dec 1836), 7:25 (24 June 1834), 7:50 (16 Dec 1834).
73. ‘Free Trade to China’, Courier 1 (28 July 1831); ‘War with China’, Courier 7 (8 Sept 1831).
The shared position did not prevent the fight between the two editors of the newspapers.
While the quarrels with the Chinese went on, the Courier’s proprietor William Wightman
Wood and the Register’s editor Arthur S. Keating (1807–1838) exchanged aggressive
articles in the two newspapers in addition to trading abusive letters and personal verbal
abuse. The conflict between them resulted in a challenge of a duel, but it had more to do
with the American ‘travelling spinster’ Harriet Low Hillard, one of the few eligible ladies
of the foreign community in China, who lived in Macao and occasionally under disguise
ventured to Lintin and Canton. For the fight between the Courier and the Register, see, for
instance, Courier 1:28 (9 Feb 1832), 1:29 (16 Feb 1832); and Register 5:3 (2 Feb 1832), 6:12
(5 Aug 1833); for the duel, see Hillard, Lights and Shadows, pp. 320–22; and Hunter, Fan
Kwae, p. 112.
74. For instance, ‘The Ports of China’ and ‘Free Trade’ Repository 1:11 (Mar 1833), p. 456; and
4:12 (Apr 1836), p. 572; 2:8 (Dec 1833), pp. 360–61; 5:6 (Oct 1836), p. 241; 6:1 (May 1837),
p. 5; 6:8 (Dec 1837), p. 390; 2:3 (July 1833), p. 128.
75. For instance, Press 1:40 (11 June 1836).
76. Register 4:10 (13 May 1831).
77. Ibid.
78. Register 4:12 (18 June 1831).
79. For the book ordered, see JM, B6/10, L638; see also Greenberg, British Trade, p. 74n1;
and Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, p. 163.
80. Zhiguo zhi yong dalüe [A sketch on the practicalities of policymaking] contains twenty-
one pages in double leaves. The publication date is said to be 1839 (Lutz, Opening China,
p. 339) or 1840 (Oxford Bodleian Library [OBL] Online Catalogue). Karl Gützlaff is
attributed by both Lutz and OBL to be the author. But the preface of the book states
that it was by Ma Lixun 馬禮遜. (It could be Robert Morrison or his son John Robert
Morrison. John used both his own and his father’s Chinese names after Robert’s death.)
Robert Morrison died in 1834, and the preface does not say or suggest that this is a
posthumous publication. If it was the father, it could in fact have been published before
1834. Further information is necessary for the exact date of publication and the author to
be determined.
81. Zhiguo, pp. 3b–4a. The original Chinese read, ‘任意之貿易真沾潤國也’.
82. Zhiguo, p. 16a. The original Chinese read, ‘但將農、匠、商一均振興，無不利國益
民矣’.
83. Aihanzhe (eds.), Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan [Eastern Western monthly maga-
zine]. The republication in 1997 has a comprehensive introduction to the magazine
written by the editor Huang Shijian. For the articles about trade, see the Huang edition,
pp. 301–2, pp. 314–16, pp. 331–32, pp. 344–45, pp. 359–60, pp. 369–70, pp. 382–83,
pp. 393–94, pp. 407–8.
84. Aihanzhe (eds.), Dongxiyang kao, p. 315. The original Chinese read, ‘通商愈廣，國家
愈興’.
85. For the fictional writing, see Aihanzhe, Dongxiyang kao, pp. 331–32, pp. 344–45,
pp. 359–60, pp. 369–70, pp. 382–83, pp. 393–94, pp. 407–8.
86. See Aihanzhe (eds.), Dongxiyang kao, ‘Maoyi’ [Trade], pp. 314–16; ‘Xun xindi’ [Searching
for newland], pp. 394–95; and ‘Gongbanya’ [The East India Companies], pp. 418–20.
87. Gützlaff, Maoyi tongzhi, pp. 14a–30a.
88. Ibid., pp. 8a–13a; for the term sanshang, see p. 11a.
89. For missionaries’ Chinese publications of this period, see Hanan, ‘The Missionary Novels
of Nineteenth-Century China’; for their geohistorical and Christian publications, see
Barnett and Fairbank eds., Christianity in China.
90. Maoyi tongzhi was quoted fourteen times by Wei Yuan (see Xiong, Xixuedongjian, p. 120).
I will explain more about Wei Yuan and his books in Chapter 4.
91. For the book ordered, see JM, B6/10, L638; see also Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and
Empire, p. 163.
92. McCulloch, Dictionary, p. 233, italics in original. This passage was reprinted and then
repudiated in the Register 8:1 (6 Jan 1835).
93. Smith, Wealth of Nations, p. 65.
94. Register 4:10 (13 May 1831); Collie, Chinese Classical Work.
95. Collie, Chinese Classical Work, vol. 1, pp. 78–79. Chin Seang (Chen Xiang); Heu Hing
(Xu Xing), or Heu Tsze (Xu Zi). Tsze (Zi) was a suffix of respect; Prince Tang
(Tengwengong).
96. Zhiguo, pp. 2b–3a and 7a–7b; and Maoyi tongzhi, pp. 2b–3a and 55b; Aihanzhe (eds.),
Dongxiyang kao, p. 314.
97. Greenberg, British Trade, p. 167.
98. For the petition see PRO, FO 1048/30/5; and Register Supplement (18 Dec 1830) and 4:2
(17 Jan 1831); more details in Chapter 6.
99. For the Press leaving a space, see Press 1:46 (23 July 1836).
100. For the Register’s suggestion concerning Howqua, see Register 9:30 (26 July 1836).
101. For reports of the incident, see Register 8:49, supplement (8 Dec 1835); and Press 1:15
(19 Dec 1835).
102. See Register 6:5 (13 Apr 1833), 7:46 (18 Nov 1834), 8:1 (6 Jan 1835), 8:10 (10 Mar 1835),
8:28 (14 July 1835).
103. JM, C5/2, pp. 1–3.
104. Calcutta Courier (7 Nov 1835), quoted from Register 9:10 (8 Mar 1836). For another
example of the Calcutta Courier’s disagreement on the war position with the Register, see
Register 8:21 (26 May 1836).
105. It seems the Press had certain American connections, but thus far I have not been able to
find evidence.
106. Franklin, Account of the Supremest Court.
107. Press 1:1 (12 Sept 1835), 1:3 (26 Sept 1835).
108. For Governor-General Lu Kun, see Press 1:4 (3 Oct 1835); for the piracy issue, Press 1:16
(26 Dec 1835).
109. For comments on Elliot, see Press 3:16 (23 Dec 1837).
110. Press 1:45 (16 July 1836).
111. Ibid., italics in original.
112. For the circulation of the Register and Press, see Repository 5:4 (Aug 1836), p. 159.
113. ‘Canton Petition to the King’, ‘To the Editor of the Canton Press’, and ‘Petition’, in Press
1:6 (17 Oct 1835). For the Register’s version of the analysis of the petitioners, see ‘In the
Last Number of the Canton Press’, Canton Register 8:42 (20 Oct 1835); and ‘Petition to
the King in Council’, Canton Register 9:28 (12 July 1836). For the Register’s analysis of
other newspapers, see ‘Petition of British Subjects at Canton’, ‘In Our Columns’, and
‘Dear Mr. Editor’, Register 8:5 (3 Feb 1835); ‘Petition to the King in Council’, Register 8:22
(2 June 1835); ‘Why Do the Heathen Rage, and the People Imagine a Vain Thing’, and
‘Dear Mr. Editor’, Register 8:10 (10 Mar 1835). The number of signatures on the petition in
the Register was ninety-one, and that which Matheson presented in London had eighty-
eight signatures; see Matheson, Present Position and Prospects.
114. Press 1:6 (17 Oct 1835).
115. Ibid.
116. Press 1:7 (24 Oct 1835).
117. Press 1:7 (24 Oct 1835).
118. Press 3:24 (17 Feb 1837).
119. For approval of Americans, Press 1:5 (10 Oct 1835).
120. The pamphlet: Facts Relating to Chinese Commerce. See Register, 3:20 (2 Oct 1830) for the
reaction of the American. For the Americans in Canton in this period, see Downs, Golden
Ghetto; for the case of Francis Terranova, see Chen, ‘Strangled by the Chinese and Kept
“Alive” by the British’.
121. Register 3:20 (2 Oct 1830).
122. For Jardine’s letter, see Register 3:20 (2 Oct 1830), 3:21 (16 Oct 1830); also Greenberg,
British Trade, p. 73.
Chapter Three
1. For a comprehensive study of the Factories, see Farris, ‘Thirteen Factories of Canton’.
2. For the interaction between Chinese merchants and staff of the EIC, see PRO, FO 1048
and FO 233/189; and IOR, G/12 and R/10. For a first-hand account of the Canton system,
see Hunter, Fan Kwae. Morse’s work was seminal in understanding the Canton system; see
International Relations, pp. 63–93. For the daily transactions of the Canton system, see
van Dyke, Canton Trade.
3. Statistical Department of the Inspectorate of Customs, Treaties, Conventions, pp. 352–53.
4. For the Manchu identity and rule in China, see Crossley, Translucent Mirror; Elliot,
Manchu Way; and Rawski, Last Emperors. For Qing expansion, see Perdue, China Marches
West.
5. The following account of what happened between 1755 and 1759 is based mainly on
Chinese records, including archives newly published by the First Historical Archive
Beijing and fragment EIC records of these years. For previous study, see, for instance,
Farmer, ‘James Flint versus the Canton Interest’; Morse, International Relations, p. 67;
van Dyke, Canton Trade, p. 14; Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 1, pp. 568–88; and Cheong,
Hong Merchants, pp. 99–102.
6. For the clearing of the coast, see Wang, Ming Qing haijiang, pp. 141–53; for the signifi-
cance of clearing the coast, see van de Ven, ‘The Onrush of Modern Globalization in
China’, pp. 170–73.
7. Huang, Yapian zhanzheng qian de dongnan sisheng haiguan, pp. 21–39. See also Gang,
Qing Opening to the Ocean, pp. 79–98.
8. Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants, pp. 8 and 11. The exact locations of the ports
changed from time to time but were in the vicinity. See Huang, Dongnan sisheng haiguan,
pp. 23–39.
9. Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants, p. 322.
10. For the advantages of Canton port, see van Dyke, Canton Trade, pp. 13–17.
11. ‘Qianlong, 20/5/16 (25 July 1755)’, and others in SLXK, pp. 354 and 357.
12. ‘Qianlong, 20/5/16 (25 July 1755)’, SLXK, vol. 10, sent to Ningbo, pp. 354 and 356.
13. Ibid., p. 357.
14. ‘Qianlong, 21/05/28 (25 June 1756)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, p. 1278.
15. Z-QGYGA, pp. 1143, 1177, 1183, and 1203.
16. Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 1, p. 569.

17. The original ‘prohibition’ document seems not to have survived, but it was quoted in this
memorial: ‘Qianlong, 21/r09/10 (2 Nov 1756)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, p. 1286.
18. N-SGDZBZG, No. 701001110, the original Chinese read, ‘周人驥革職效力軍臺乾隆
21 年’. Zhou was in the same year reinstalled and appointed as governor of Guangdong.
The reappointment was likely announced before he reached the post station; see
A-NGDKDA, No. 054778-001, original Chinese read, ‘題謝皇上恩命署理廣東巡撫’.
19. ‘Qianlong, 20/05/11 (20 July 1755)’, in SLXK, vol. 10, pp. 353–54.
20. Wu’s memorial was quoted in ‘Qianlong, 21/07/09 (4 Aug 1756)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3,
p. 1280.
21. ‘Qianlong, 21/07/09 (4 Aug 1756)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, p. 1280; Grand Council, Junjichu
軍機處.
22. ‘Qianlong, 22/01/08 (25 Feb 1757)’, and ‘Qianlong, 22/02/21 (9 Apr 1757)’, in Z-QGYGA,
vol. 3, pp. 1590 and 1594–95.
23. ‘Qianlong, 21/12/20 (8 Feb 1757)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1299–404, 1467–589.
24. ‘Qianlong, 22/07/22 (26 Aug 1757)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1626 and 1628. The original
Chinese read, ‘告之楊應琚去也.
25. ‘Qianlong, 22/08/08 (20 Sep 1757)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1629–35.
26. ‘Qianlong, 22/08/08 (20 Sep 1757)’, ‘Qianlong, 22/10/22 (3 Dec 1757)’, and ‘Qianlong
22/10/22 (3 Dec 1757)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1629–35 and 1636–44. It seems rather
puzzling that the two memorials were presented by Yang on the same day on the same
topic with minor differences, and they both belonged to the category of ‘red vermillion
memorial’. The emperor commented on the first, agreeing that the livelihoods of the
Cantonese should be taken care of (p. 1635), while he wrote on the second one that the
ministers should discuss and report back (p. 1644). Also, the second one has more details
of how Yang arrived at Ningbo.
27. ‘Qianlong, 22/11/10 (20 Dec 1757)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1654–59.
28. ‘Qianlong, 23/02/20 (27 Feb 1758)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1680–85.
29. ‘Qianlong, 23/09/25 (26 Oct 1758)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 4, pp. 1697–700.
30. ‘Qianlong, 24/r06/22 (14 Aug 1758)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 4, pp. 1747–54.
31. ‘Qianlong, 24/6/29 (23 July 1759)’, in SLXK, p. 114.
32. ‘Undated’, Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1258–64.
33. ‘Qianlong, 21/07/09 (4 Aug 1756)’, in Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, p. 1280.
34. ‘Qianlong, 24/09/04 (24 Oct 1759)’, in SLXK, vol. 4, pp. 117–25. The irony is that Flint
paid a bribe of 5,000 liang for the petition on corruption to be presented. See Morse,
International Relations, vol. 1, pp. 301–5.
35. Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, p. 1466; vol. 4, p. 1886; for the search for Lin, see vol. 4, pp. 1985–89.
36. ‘Qianlong 24/09/16 (5 Nov 1759)’, SLXK, vol. 3, pp. 94–95; for the search of the Wangs, see
Z-QGYGA, vol. 4, pp. 1945–46 and 2031–37.
37. See Z-QGYGA, vol. 4, pp. 1990 and 1951–54.
38. See Z-QGYGA, vol. 4, pp. 1990–92, 2169–76, and 2231–34. For British account of Flint,
see PRO, FO 233/189, pp. 6, 7, 11, and 13; IOR, R/10/4, pp. 8 and 154, and G/12/195,
pp. 24–27.
39. Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1260–61 and 1424–27.
40. This confirms what Paul van Dyke has argued: the Canton system of trade can be traced
back to 1700 as the starting point; see Canton Trade, p. xiv.
41. For the tea trade, see Wills, ‘European Consumption of Asian Production in the 17th
and 18th centuries’, p. 144; for the tea trade of this period in general, see Mui and Mui,
Management of Monopoly.
42. For the Jesuit’s mission, see Brockey, Journey to the East.
43. For Kangxi learning mathematics, see Wang, Kangxi huangdi, pp. 41–44. The instruments
can now be seen in the Palace Museum in Beijing, which I visited in September 2007.
44. ‘Kangxi, 27/07/57 (23/08/1718)’, in KXCHWZPZZHB, vol. 8, p. 268. The original Chinese
read, ‘西洋來人內若有各樣學問或行醫者必著速送至京中’.
45. Brockey, Journey to the East, pp. 43–49 in particular; Spence, Memory Palace.
46. Van Dyke, Canton Trade, p. 26.
47. ‘洋貨行規’ Borg. Cinese. 439 E, in Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Rome. Also partially
quoted in Morse, Chronicles, vol. 1, pp. 163–64.
48. Mingshi 明史 [History of the Ming], juan 323, On Lüsong (Luzon), in A-HJQWZLK.
49. ‘Qianlong, 07/02/03 (3 March 1737)’, in SLXK, vol. 22, pp. 803–4.
50. Brockey, Journey to the East, pp. 184–203.
51. For the persecution, see Laamann, Christian Heretics.
52. For the Sunu clan case, see Brockey, Journey to the East, p. 195; and Elliott, Manchu Way,
pp. 240–41.
53. Cao, ‘Qingdai Guangdong tizhi’.
54. For the rebellion of this period, see Naquin, Millenarian Rebellion and Shantung Rebellion;
Kuhn, Rebellion and Its Enemies; and Wang, White Lotus Rebels.
55. John King Fairbank exemplified this argument in Trade and Diplomacy, p. 52.
56. See Chapter 5.
57. For the rules, see Z-QGYGA, vol. 3, pp. 1998–2015.
58. See Chapter 6.
59. For the revision, see ‘Jiaqing, 20/04/14 (02 June 1809)’, in QDWJSL-JQ, vol. 3, pp. 9a–10b.
60. For the memorial, see Liang (ed.), Yue haiguan zhi, juan 29, pp. 19–27. For English transla-
tions of the regulations, see the Canton Register 4:11 (6 June 1831); and Morse, Chronicles,
vol. 4, pp. 293–301.
61. For Lu Kun’s revision, see Liang (ed.), Yue haiguan zhi, juan 29, pp. 28a–36a.
62. See Cheong, Hong Merchants, pp. 332 and 326.
63. The commissioner of customs belonged to the Board of Revenue but the revenue
was controlled by the Imperial Household Office (neiwufu), as was the appointment;
thus, it ended up that most often Manchus were appointed to the lucrative post. See
Huang, Dongnan sisheng haiguan, pp. 40–95; for the duties of the commissioners, see
Chen, Insolvency of the Chinese Hong Merchants, pp. 24–29.
64. For a general introduction to the Qing bureaucracy, see Metzger, Internal Organization of
Ch’ing Bureaucracy.
65. Cheong, Hong Merchants, p. 326.
66. For the Hong merchants, see van Dyke, Merchants of Canton and Macao; Cheong, Hong
Merchants; Morse, Gilds of China; Liang, Guangdong shisanhang.
67. For Poankeequa II, see Chen, Dongya haiyu yiqian nian, pp. 309–48; van Dyke, Merchants
of Canton and Macao, pp. 193–94; Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants, pp. 159–64.
68. Cheong, Hong Merchants of Canton, p. 302.
69. For instance, Liang (ed.), Yue haiguan zhi, juan 29, pp. 28–36.
70. Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 51–53; van Dyke, Canton Trade, p. 11; Cheong, Hong
Merchants, p. 302.
71. For linguists, see van Dyke, Canton Trade, pp. 77–94.
72. For compradors, see van Dyke, Canton Trade, pp. 51–76.
73. Register 4:11 (6 June 1831).
74. For the system, see Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 1, pp. 331–77; and van Dyke, Canton
Trade.
75. Morse, Chronicles, vol. 1, p. viii. For the change in 1786, see IOR, R/10/33 (Court’s letter
of 24 March 1786); for a general narrative of the history of early Canton trade, see IOR,
G/12/20, pp. 377–80.
76. For tea trade figures and credit flow in Canton, see Chen, Insolvency of the Chinese Hong
Merchants, pp. 44–53.
77. For the amount of port revenue sent to the court between 1684 and 1844, see Huang,
Dongnan sisheng haiguan, pp. 419–82.
78. For examples, see ‘Proclamations’, Register 4:19 (1 Oct 1831).
79. ‘Hukoukao yi’ 戶口考一 [Part one of household registration], Qingchao wenxian tongkao.
For the twelfth-century record of the mutual responsibility system, see ‘The Mutual
Responsibility System’, in Ebrey (ed.), Chinese Civilization.
80. For the 1744 case, see Liang, Yue haiguan zhi, juan 28, pp. 2–3; for the 1809 case, see
SLXK, vol. 3, pp. 56–57 and 104–6. Seeking guarantors was a significant feature in every
aspect of the foreign trade in the Qing period, even the construction of oceangoing ships;
see Guo, ‘Qingdai qianqi haiwai maoyi guanli’.
81. Zhang, ‘Cong Hezhou shibian kan Qianlong chao minbian’.
82. Naquin and Rawski, Chinese Society in the Eighteenth Century, pp. 16–17.
83. The foreigners knew the baojia, but they did not seem to link it to the Canton system.
E. C. Bridgman mentioned this system in ‘Notices of China’, Repository 2:1 (May 1834): 18.
84. For an English record of the appointment of a French consul to Canton, see IOR, G/12/66,
p. 190.
85. ‘Relations between the United States of America and China’, Repository 5:5 (Sept 1836):
219.
86. ‘Qianlong, 20/09/28 (2 Nov 1755)’, in SLXK, vol. 12, p. 425.
87. ‘Jiaqian, 08/04/14 (21 May1809)’, in QDWJSL-JQ, vol. 3, p. 6. The Chinese read, ‘英吉利
國素性強橫奸詐聞近年惟法蘭西夷國足與相抗’.
88. ‘Circa April 1831’, in SLXK, vol. 10, p. 362. The original Chinese read, ‘有英吉利貿易夷
人自恃富強’.
89. Song in 1793 had accompanied halfway the embassy’s journey south to Canton. In 1811,
when Song arrived in Canton as governor-general of Guangdong and Guangxi and
learned that Staunton was in the Thirteen Factories, they renewed their friendship. The
EIC capitalized on this friendship to solve a dispute at the time. Three years later the court
intervened that terminated the friendship. For Staunton’s communication and exchange
of gifts with Song between 1811 and 1814, see PRO, FO 1048/11/18-24, FO 1048/11/26,
FO 1048/11/35, FO 1048/12/1, FO 1048/12/2, FO 1048/12/8, FO 1048/14/54, and FO
1048/14/66; and IOR, G/12/20, pp. 298–99.
90. This letter to the governor is recorded in the proceedings of Parliament in London;
see ‘Extract from Mr. C. Grant’s Speech June 13th’, in Register 6:19 & 20 (26 Dec 1833),
italics added. The speech shows that Parliament at this point held Qing China in great
respect.
91. ‘Last Letter from the Honourable Company’s Chief at Macao to the Viceroy’, Register 7:18
(6 May 1834).
92. ‘Election of a Chief ’, Register 7:44 (4 Nov 1834). The translation was by the Register, hence
‘Barbarian Eye’ for yimu.
93. PRO, FO 82/2462. One of the memorials was translated into English and published in
the Register, entitled ‘Postcript [sic] to a Dispatch from the Governor of Canton to the
Emperor’, Register 10:5 (24 Jan 1837).
94. Register 10:18 (2 May 1837).
95. PRO, FO 682/2462/47, and FO 682/2462/52. The case was also published in the Canton
Press 3:3 (23 Sept 1837).
96. For stopping trade during the Napier Affair, see Hunter, Fan Kwae, pp. 127–32; for another
three occasions of stopping trade, see Register 3:25 (18 Dec 1830), 4:1 (3 Jan 1831), 7:1
(7 Jan 1834).
97. Press 4:9 (3 Nov 1838). For the establishing and removal of the seamen’s hospital-ship, see
Register 8:4 (27 Jan 1835), 8:24 (16 June 1835), 8:25 (23 June 1835), 9:39 (27 Sept 1836),
9:48 (29 Nov 1836), 11:1 (2 Jan 1837), 11:15 (10 Apr 1838), 11:26 (26 Jun 1838); Press
1:44 (9 July 1836), 1:47 (30 July 1836), 1:51 (27 Aug 1836), 2:1 (10 Sept 1836), 2:7 (22 Oct
1836), 3:32 (14 Apr 1838), 3:37 (19 May 1838), 3:40 (9 June 1838), 3:42 (23 June 1838),
3:44 (7 July 1838).
98. Examples of punishment of Chinese in order to force the foreigners to cooperate: in the
Flint incident, Register 3:17 (25 Aug 1830); in the case of an American petition, Register
1:20 (7 May 1828); for Western women in Canton, Register 3:23 (15 Nov 1830), and 4:13
(4 July 1831); in the Napier Affair, Register 7:33 (19 Aug 1834); in other cases, Register 8:11
(17 Mar 1835), 9:47 (22 Nov 1836), 8:2 (13 Jan 1835), and 6:13 and 14 (16 Sept 1833).
99. IOR, G/12/262, pp. 34–35; Hunter, Fan Kwae, p. 45.
100. For examples of the British merchants stopping trade, see during 1813–1814: Greenberg,
British Trade, p. 52. During 1829–1830: Register 3:2 (19 Jan 1830), 3:3 (3 Feb 1830), 3:4
(15 Feb 1830), 3:7 (29 Mar 1830), and 5:1 (2 Jan 1832); also Greenberg, British Trade,
p. 43; Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, p. 20; Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 1, p. 503.
During April 1839, see Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, p. 79.
101. For the first meeting of the Chamber of Commerce, see Register 7:33 (19 Aug 1834).
102. For the Chamber of Commerce, see Register 7:31 (5 Aug 1834), 7:33 (19 Aug 1834), 7:40
(7 Oct 1834), 7:45 (11 Nov 1834), 7:46 (18 Nov 1834), 7:47 (25 Nov 1834), 7:50 (16 Dec
1834), 8:3 (20 Jan 1835), 8:4 (27 Jan 1835), 8:8 (25 Feb 1835), 8:9 (3 Mar 1835), 8:16
(21 Apr 1835), 8:20 (19 May 1835), 8:44 (2 Nov 1835), 9:15 (12 Apr 1836), 9:16 (19 Apr
1836), 9:20 (17 May 1836); and Press 1:30 (2 Apr 1836), and 1:32 (16 Apr 1836).
103. For the General Chamber of Commerce, see Press 1:4 (3 Oct 1835), 1:32 (16 Apr 1836),
2:11 (19 Nov 1836), 2:12 (26 Nov 1836), 2:13 (3 Dec 1836), 2:19 (14 Jan 1837), 2:29 (25 Mar
1837), 2:31 (8 Apr 1837), 2:32 (15 Apr 1837), 2:36 (13 May 1837), 3:10 (1 Nov 1837), 3:12
(25 Nov 1837), 3:11 (8 Nov 1837), 3:14 (9 Dec 1837), 3:17 (30 Dec 1837), 3:19 (13 Jan
1837), 3:26 (3 Mar 1837), 3:29 (24 Mar 1838), 3:43 (30 June 1838), 3:49 (11 Aug 1838),
4:10 (10 Nov 1838), 4:13 (1 Dec 1838); and Register 9:48 (29 Nov 1836), 9:49 (13 Dec
1836), 10:2 (10 Jan 1837), 10:14 (4 Apr 1837), 10:16 (18 Apr 1837), 10:18 (2 May 1837),
10:19 (9 May 1837), 10:21 (23 May 1837), 10:21 (23 May 1837), 10:22 (30 May 1837),
10:24 (13 June 1837), 10:28 (11 July 1837), 10:44 (31 Oct 1837), 10:45 (7 Nov 1837), 10:46
(14 Nov 1837), 10:48 (28 Nov 1837), 10:49 (5 Dec 1837), 10:52 (26 Dec 1837), 11:2 (9 Jan
1838), 11:12 (20 Mar 1838).
104. Examples of communication between the General Chamber of Commerce and Hong
merchants: Press 4:13 (1 Dec 1838), 4:14 (8 Dec 1838), 4:15 (15 Dec 1838), 4:16 (22 Dec
1838), 4:17 (27 Dec 1838).
105. Press 3:19 (13 Jan 1837); see also Press 4:13 (1 Dec 1838) for a letter concerning another
plea from the Hong merchants to the chamber.
106. ‘Remarks on the Trade of Canton [by Frederick Pigou, Esq. 1754.]’, Register 8:10 (10 Mar
1835), italics in original.
107. ‘Treaty with China’, Repository 4:10 (Feb 1836), p. 445. Greenberg, British Trade, p. 45.
108. ‘Charles Grant, “East-India Company’s Charter”’, Hansard, HC Deb. vol. 18 (13 June
1833), col. 709. Also quoted in Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, p. 22.
109. ‘Grey to Napier, 10 January 1834’, in Grey’s Papers, GRE/B42/2/5, quoted from Melancon,
Britain’s China Policy, p. 37.
110. ‘Free Trade to All the Ports of the Chinese Empire’, Register 7:25 (24 June 1834).
111. ‘Instructions to LT.COL. Cathcart, Whitehall, Nov 30th, 1787’, in Morse, Chronicles, vol. 2,
p. 164.
112. For Marjoribanks’s pamphlet, see Register 5:10 (18 July 1832). For Morrison’s Chinese
translation and a Chinese account of these voyages, see Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 1,
pp. 588–622; Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage to the Northern Ports
of China; Gützlaff, Journal of Three Voyages along the Coast of China. For the Register’s
report on Marjoribanks advocating China’s case as an MP in London, see Register 7:20
(20 May 1834) and 7:23 (10 June 1834). For discussion of the voyage, see Su, Ma Lixun,
pp. 113–30; and Morse, Chronicles, vol. 4, p. 332.
113. For the English text, see Register 5:10 (18 July 1832); the original Chinese read, ‘夫英國
朝廷既經有了這多大地方何得復渴開新地乎其所尚者特為養護英民享平安納福而
已’; see Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, vol. 1, p. 619.
114. For the Chinese letters that the British received during the journey, see Xu (ed.),
Da zhong ji.
115. ‘Daoguang 12/07/02 (28 July 1832)’, SLXK, vol. 13, p. 471.
116. ‘Daoguang 12/06/01 (28 June 1832)’, in SLXK, pp. 397–98.
117. ‘LE Governor & c to the Hong Merchants’, Register 1:39 (15 Nov 1828).
118. Ibid.
119. For the forbidding of books and learning Chinese, see SLXK, vol. 10, pp. 361–63; for the
Chinese teacher killed, see Hunter, Fan Kwae, p. 37.
120. Su, Zhongguo Kaimen; for Morrison’ Chinese teachers, see pp. 43–64; for the Chinese
books he brought with him, see p. 123.
121. ‘Neumann, Karl Friedrich’, Encyclopædia Britannica (1911).
122. Register 4:12 (18 June 1831). The original Chinese read, ‘不失天朝體制方為至善’.
Chapter Four
1. ‘Proceedings Relative to the Formation of a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge
in China’, in PRO, FO 17/ 89; also partly in Chinese Repository 3:8 (Dec 1834), pp. 378–84,
italics added. A version of this chapter has been published in Modern Asian Studies, see
Chen, ‘An Information War Waged by Merchants and Missionaries at Canton’.
2. For the modernization argument of the SDUKC, which I will not repeat here, see
Rubinstein, ‘Propagating the Democratic Gospel’; Drake, ‘E. C. Bridgman’s Portrayal of
the West’; and Lazich, ‘Diffusion of Useful Knowledge’.
3. ‘Proceedings Relative to the Formation of a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge
in China’, in PRO, FO 17/ 89.
4. Hillemann argued that the changing perceptions of China on the British side around
this time made war against China imaginable; see Asian Empire and British Knowledge,
pp. 104–5.
5. ‘Prize Essay’, Register 4:12 (18 June 1831), italics added. See Chapter 2.
6. ‘Civilization’, Miscellany, pp. 11–12.
7. Ibid.
8. ‘Progress Society’, Register 5:5 (8 Mar 1832).
9. Ibid.
10. ‘The Press in China’, Register 6:6 (31 May 1833).
11. ‘Prospectus of a Monthly Periodical in the Chinese Language’, Register 6:10 (15 July 1833).
12. Ibid.
13. Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 139–40.
14. ‘Chinese Monthly Magazine’, Register 7:15 (15 Apr 1834). Greenberg quoted this from the
Jardine Matheson Archives, but he did not note the source, because he read uncatalogued
documents. Further research is needed to determine Gützlaff ’s source of funds.
15. ‘The Chinese Magazine’, Repository 2:5 (Sept 1833), pp. 234–36.
16. ‘The Chinese Magazine’, Courier 3:6 (23 Sept 1833).
17. ‘Chinese Monthly Magazine’, Register 7:15 (15 Apr 1834).
19. For the SDUK, see Smith, Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.
20. ‘Literary Notices’, Repository 2:7 (Nov 1833), pp. 329–31.
21. For the SDUK’s note and abstract of the pamphlet, see ‘Literary Notices’, Chinese Repository
2:7 (Nov 1833), pp. 329–31; quotation on p. 329.
22. For the circulation of the Penny Magazine, see Secord, Victorian Sensation, p. 68; and
Bennett, ‘Editorial Character and Readership of the Penny Magazine’.
23. For Brougham, see Lobban, ‘Brougham, Henry Peter’.
24. ‘Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China’, Register 7:26 (1 July 1834).
25. Register 7:49 (9 Dec 1834).
26. For the regulations of the society, see Register 7:49 (9 Dec 1834).
27. ‘First Report of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China’, Repository
4:8 (Dec 1835), pp. 354–61.
28. ‘Second Report of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China’, Repository
5:11 (Mar 1837), pp. 507–13.
29. ‘The Third Annual Report of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China’,
Repository 6:7 (Nov 1837), pp. 334–40, italics added.
30. Ibid.
31. Ibid.
32. ‘Second Report’, p. 512.
33. ‘Fourth Annual Report of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China’,
Repository 7:8 (December 1838), pp. 399–410, quotation on pp. 400–401, italics added.
34. Ibid., pp. 400.
35. Ibid., pp. 400–401.
36. Ibid.
37. See Xiong, Xixue dongjian, p. 171.
39. Rubinstein, Origins of the Anglo-American Missionary Enterprise in China, p. 131.
40. ‘Third Annual Report’, p. 334.
41. ‘First Report’, pp. 354–55; and ‘Third Annual Report’, pp. 335–56. For the translated term,
see Aihanzhe (ed.), Dongxiyang kao, p. 185.
42. The term ‘devils’ originated in the context of European pirates on the south China coast
during the early years of the encounter between China and the West; see Liu, Clash of
Empires, pp. 96–107.
43. For Samuel Dyer and Legrand working on movable type, see Su, Ma Lixun, pp. 191–202.
44. ‘First Report’, p. 356; ‘Second Report’, pp. 512–13; and ‘Third Annual Report’, p. 339.
45. For the English version of the Napier’s placard, see ‘Interesting to the Chinese Merchants’,
Register 7:35 (2 Sept 1834).
47. ‘First Report’, p. 357; ‘Second Report’, p. 509. For publication in Singapore, see Chng and
Zhou, Jidujiao Chuanjiaoshi, pp. 272–300.
48. ‘First Report’.
50. For Edwin Steven’s account of the voyage to Fuji, see Repository 4:2 (June 1835), pp. 82–96.
Steven mentioned only Christian books, but when the Register complained about the
Canton authorities searching for those Chinese who assisted in the writing and printing
of the tracts, it alluded to the distribution of the magazine, see ‘Freedom of Press in China’,
Register 8:38 (22 Sept 1835).
51. ‘First Report’, p. 356; ‘Second Report’, p. 512; ‘Third Annual Report’, pp. 339–40; ‘Fourth
Annual Report,’ pp. 403–4. For the publication and distribution of the magazine, see
Huang, ‘Daoyan (Introduction)’, in Aihanzhe (ed.), Dongxiyang kao, pp. 3–35.
52. ‘First Report’, pp. 359–60.
53. For the personal distribution of Bridgman’s book, see Lazich, E. C. Bridgman, pp. 144 and
154; for Bridgman’s revision of the treatise, see Xiong, Xixue dongjian, pp. 117–18.
54. Xiong, Xixue dongjian, pp. 220–26; and Su, Zhongguo kaimen, pp. 226–32. For the discus-
sion of the letter to Queen Victoria, see Liu, Clash of Empires, pp. 91–94.
55. For political factionalism, see Polachek, Inner Opium War, pp. 125–35.
56. Xiong, Xixue dongjian, pp. 255–66. For Wei Yuan, see Barnett, ‘Wei Yuan and Westerners’;
and Leonard, Wei Yuan and China’s Rediscovery of the Maritime World.
57. Xiong, Xixue dongjian, pp. 255–66.
58. Ibid., pp. 226–39.
59. For Xu Jiyu (Hsu Chi-yu), see Drake, China Charts the World.
60. Murray Rubinstein explains the society as part of the activities initiated by the foreign
community in China to ‘overturn its tradition and become a modern, industrial, Christian
nation state’, seeing SDUKC as one of the earliest attempts to bring the fruits of modernity
into China. See Rubinstein, ‘Propagating the Democratic Gospel’, p. 258.
61. Drake, ‘E. C. Bridgman’s Portrayal of the West’; Lazich, ‘Diffusion of Useful Knowledge’,
p. 316; also Lazich, E. C. Bridgman, p. 120.
62. Rubinstein, ‘The Wars They Wanted’.
63. ‘To the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in Council’, in Matheson, Present Position and
Prospects of the British Trade with China.
64. ‘Objects of the Society’, Repository 3:8 (Dec 1834), p. 382; also in PRO, FO 17/9.
65. ‘First Report’, p. 355.
66. ‘Proceedings’, pp. 380–81; ‘First Report’, p. 361. ‘Second Report’, p. 507; ‘Third Annual
Report’, p. 340; and ‘Fourth Annual Report’, p. 410. There are three individuals, William
Bell, Cox, and Thomas Fox, of whom further study is required to identify their roles in the
Canton trade.
67. ‘Proceedings Relative to the Formation of the Morrison Education Society’, Repository 5:8
(Dec 1836), pp. 373–81; also in PRO, FO 17/9.
68. For the founding of the Medical Missionary Society, see Colledge and Parker, Address and
Minutes of Proceedings of the Medical Missionary Society.
69. ‘Suggestions for the Formation of a Medical Missionary Society’, Repository 5:8 (Dec
1836), pp. 370–73, quotation pp. 372–73.
71. Ibid., pp. 357–58.
72. ‘Chinese Magazine’, Repository 2:5 (Sept 1834), p. 235.
73. ‘Second Report’, p. 510; ‘Third Report’, p. 339.
74. Rubinstein, Origins of the Anglo-American Missionary Enterprise in China, p. 135. For
translation of the Bible, see Mak, Protestant Bible Translation and Mandarin as the
National Language.
75. ‘Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China’, Register 11:32 (7 Aug 1838).
76. ‘Fourth Annual Report’, p. 407.
77. Ibid., p. 408; for the original regulation, see ‘Proceedings’, p. 383.
78. Lutz, Opening China, pp. 90–91 and pp. 99–116; and Lazich, E. C. Bridgman.
79. Cohen, ‘Christian Missions and Their Impact to 1900’, pp. 543–90.
Chapter Five
1. ‘To the King’s Most Excellent Majesty in Council’, in Matheson, Present Position and
Prospects of the British Trade with China, p. 131, italics added.
2. Liu, Clash of Empires, Chapter 2; Fang, ‘Yi, Yang, Xi, Wai and Other Terms’.
3. Staunton, Memoirs, pp. 63–65.
4. IOR, R/10/39, ff. 40–41; G/12/154, passim. Staunton, Memoirs, pp. 34–35.
5. PRO, FO 1048/14/73. The original Chinese read, ‘似有輕侮之意’; ‘外國統稱’.
6. Lydia Liu argued that the British started translating yi as ‘barbarians’ instead of as ‘for-
eigners’ in around 1832 and believed that Gützlaff played a major role in it (Liu, Clash of
Empires, pp. 41–42). This chapter reveals that the yi issue started in 1814, and Gützlaff ’s
confrontation with Chinese authorities in 1832 was the end product of the public debate
in the Canton Register that took place during 1828 and 1829.
7. Morse, Chronicles, vol. 4, p. 152.
8. Morrison (ed.), Dictionary of the Chinese Language, 1815.
9. ‘Translation of the Petition from the Gentry Balliffs & Co. of Mongha Village, to the
Kwanmanfoo, against the New Road’, and ‘Decision of the Kwanmanfoo on the Mongha
Gentry’, both in Register 1:17 (26 Apr 1828).
10. ‘Barbarians’, Register 1:20 (17 May 1828).
11. ‘Epithets Applied to Foreigners’, Register 1:21 (24 May 1828). The translation was from
the Elements of Chinese Grammar (1814), by missionary Joshua Marshman (1768–1837).
The system of romanization is different from modern pinyin: yi (Ee); rong (Jung), man
(Maan), and di (Teih).
12. Ibid. The Original Chinese read, ‘孟子／離婁下，孟子曰：舜生於諸馮，遷於負夏，
卒於鳴條，東夷之人也；文王生於岐周，卒於畢郢，西夷之人也。地之相去也千
有餘里，世之相後也，千有餘歲，得志行乎中國，若合符節，先聖後聖，其揆
一也’.
13. ‘Epithets Applied to Foreigners’.
14. The sentences paraphrased by Z is not Confucius’s but comes from The Great Learning
(Liji 禮記 / Daxue 大學). The original Chinese read, ‘唯仁人放流之迸諸四夷不與同
中國’.
15. ‘Epithets Applied to Foreigners’.
16. Ibid.
17. Register 2: 21 (18 Nov 1829), italics in original.
18. Matheson, Present Position and Prospects of the British Trade with China, pp. 15, 17, 21,
and 73.
19. For study of the voyage, see Guo, Jindai Zhongguo shi, pp. 605–6; Su, Ma Lixun,
pp. 113–30; and Liu, Clash of Empires, pp. 40–46.
20. Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji, pp. 48–50. Wu’s official title in Chinese: 欽命江南蘇松太兵備道監
督海關. Liu named Wu as admiral (Clash of Empire, p. 43), which is not accurate for this
was a civil post.
21. Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji, pp. 52–54. Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage
to the Northern Ports, pp. 67–68.
22. Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji, pp. 53–54. Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage
to the Northern Ports of China, p. 68. Lydia Liu put the book quoted from as ‘Great Qing
Code’ (Clash of Empires, p. 43). This is not how the Da Qing Huidian (Ta-tsing hyway-teen)
is usually translated. The Great Qing Code usually refers to the Da Qing Luli.
23. For the Chinese petition that quotes this passage, see Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji, p. 54. This
English translation is from Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage to
the Northern Ports of China, pp. 68–69. Lydia Liu used passage in John Francis Davies’s
translation (Clash of Empires, p. 44), which is identical to the translation in the Canton
Register; see ‘OI Barbaroi’, Register 6:12 (5 Aug 1833). Liu’s argument that the translation
of buzhi as ‘misrule’ ‘turns Su Shi’s words into perfect gibberish, if not a verbal monstros-
ity’, is applicable only to the Register’s and Davies’s text, not to Lindsay’s and to the 1832
confrontation. The complexity of the issue is wanting in Liu’s argument.
24. Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji, pp. 60–61.
25. Liu, Clash of Empires, p. 44.
26. Gützlaff, Journal of Two Voyages, p. 234.
27. For the edicts, see SLXK, pp. 212–15; for the Canton newspaper’s report on this, see
Register, 5:10 (18 July 1832), 5:13 (3 Sept 1832), 6:2 (24 Jan 1833), 6:3 (16 Feb 1833),
6:4 (20 Mar 1833), 6:8(31 May 1833), 6:19 and 20 (26 Dec 1833), 7:9 (4 Mar 1834), 7:10
(11 Mar 1834), 7:14 (8 Apr 1834), 8:35 (1 Sept 1835).
28. For the Chinese people’s reaction, see Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji.
29. Liu, Clash of Empires, pp. 34 and 69.
30. For examples of ‘semi-barbarous’, see Register, 5:13 (3 Sept 1832), and 5:15 (3 Oct 1832);
for ‘barbarian’, see Register 9:1 (5 Jan 1836), and 9:35 (30 Aug 1836).
31. A portion of this section has been published in an article; see Chen, ‘Chinese Narrator and
Western Barbarians’.
32. For Gützlaff ’s manifesto, see Register 6:10 (15 July 1833).
33. Aihanzhe (ed.), Dongxiyang kao: ‘Zi wai ji fu’ 子外寄父 [A son abroad to his father],
p. 111; ‘Zhi wai feng gu shu’ 姪外奉姑書’ (A nephew abroad to his aunt), p. 201; ‘Ru wai
ji pengyou shu’ 儒外寄朋友書 [A scholar abroad to his friend], p. 221; ‘Zhi wai feng shu
shu’ 侄外奉叔書 [A nephew abroad to his uncle], pp. 241, 251, 360, 371, 396, 408, and
421; ‘Shu da zhi’ 叔答侄 [The uncle’s reply to the nephew], pp. 251 and 360. Gützlaff,
E. C. Bridgman, W. H. Medhurat, and John Morrison were all involved in editing
this magazine; see Huang Shijian, introduction to Aihanzhe (ed.), Dongxiyang kao,
pp. 9–14.
34. ‘Zhi wai ji fu’, in Aihanzhe (ed.), Dongxiyang kao, p. 111. The writing was unconven-
tional, and my rendering attempts to piece together the possible meanings. The original
Chinese read, ‘男向來視諸夷國當小洲，到那國之時，名稱百路，看地方之寬，城
邑之美，百姓之盛，市頭之鬧，色沮言塞，暗想至中國因聞夷人如餓鬼貧賤，甚
實堪憫，不期而登岸巡遊，城名叫麗瑪，到處矚晀，細看決疑，屋有順便，衢有
澗長，使知五倫學問最淵，生齒日繁，農商相資，工賈相讓，且此地之官員推廣
立教，使民知禮義。’
35. For the general situation in Peru after its independence, see Bonilla, ‘Peru and Bolivia
from Independence to the War of the Pacific’; for the economic situation of this period,
see Gootenberg, Between Silver and Guano.
36. ‘Landun shiyong’ 蘭墩十詠, in Aihanzhe (ed.), Dongxiyang kao, p. 67, also p. 77. These
ten poems also appear in Gützlaff, Dayingguo, pp. 5–7.
37. For Dickens’s childhood, see Forsters, Life of Charles Dickens, pp. 23–37.
38. Gützlaff, Dayingguo, pp. 3–4. The original text in Chinese was written incoherently. The
translation here tries to patch together the meaning from the context instead of following
the original word by word. Gützlaff uses abundant idiomatic expressions from traditional
popular fiction without knowing exactly what they mean. The whole book very often
repeatedly quoted idioms that fit the context oddly, rendering the whole narration rather
peculiar. The original Chinese read, ‘就問其紅毛人為夷，不知有國家帝君乎，已聞
知夷猶禽獸，非知五倫之理，若鳥飛獸走，寓穴掘土，任意食草穀，男女亂媾，
上無神，下無君也。葉生含笑道，已而已而，恁般說話，令人把老先生冥頑不
靈，雖然本國無地理之文，無外國之史，卻看駐廣州的外客，一定露出其國之體
面，若論物藝手段，只閱其甲板。尚然不知漢文，卻有本話詩書文章。’
39. Matheson, Present Position and Prospects of the British Trade with China, pp. 7, 15, and 17;
capitals in original.
40. Lindsay, Letter to Lord Palmerston on British Relations with China, p. 9.
41. ‘The Dispute with China’, Asiatic Journal, March 1835, p. 148.
42. Quarterly Review, January 1834, vol. 1, p. 458.
43. Staunton, Remarks on the British Relations with China, pp. 35–38; Morning Herald, 4 April
1836; The Times, 4 April 1836; Asiatic Journal, March, April, and May 1835.
44. Register 8:39 (29 Sept 1835).
45. Repository 4:5 (Oct 1835); also in Register 8:44 (3 Nov 1835).
46. For instance, Register 8:39 (29 Sept 1835), 8:44 (2 Nov 1835), 9:35 (30 Aug 1836), 9:38
(20 Sept 1836), 9:44 (1 Nov 1836), 9:49 (6 Dec 1836), 10:23 (6 June 1837), 10:24 (13 June
1837), 10:31 (1 Aug 1837), 10:33 (15 Aug 1837), 10:34 (22 Aug 1837), 10:35 (29 Aug 1837),
11:34 (21 Aug 1838); Canton Press 1:20 (23 Jan 1836), 1:49 (13 Aug 1836), 2:38 (27 May
1837), 2:39 (3 June 1837), 2:40 (10 June 1837); Repository 5:6 (Oct 1836), 6:1 (May 1837).
47. Register 8:40 (6 Oct 1835).
48. Press 1:20 (23 Jan 1836), 1:49 (13 Aug 1836), 2:38 (27 May 1837), 2:39 (3 June 1837), and
2:40 (10 June 1837).
49. Register 10:22 (30 May 1837).
50. Register 10:23 (6 June 1837).
51. Register 10:24 (13 June 1837).
52. Register 10:3 (1 Aug 1837), 10:32 (8 Aug 1837), 10:33 (15 Aug 1837), 10:34 (22 Aug 1837),
10:35 (29 Aug 1837).
53. Register 10:34 (22 Aug 1837).
54. Ibid.
55. Register 10:35 (29 Aug 1837), by Lexicon.
56. Register 10:35 (29 Aug 1837).
57. Zhang, ‘Fuyi riji’. Teng translated bu mei as ‘unrefined’; see Zhang, Chang Hsi and the
Treaty of Nanking, p. 83.
58. This section is a preliminary survey of the use of the words. It would be worthwhile to
conduct a statistical analysis using Digital humanities methods, but until the digitization
of the edicts and memorials is complete, this project would need a team and funding to go
through all the existing edicts and memorials from this period manually.
59. ‘Kangxi, 18/02/49 (03/17/1710)’, in KXZP, vol. 2, p. 760; and ‘Kangxi, 07/09/1710
(14/r7/47)’, in KXZP, vol. 3, pp. 5–6.
60. ‘Kangxi, 02/06/47 (19/07/1706)’, in KXZP, vol. 2, p. 63; ‘Kangxi [1715] (undated)’,
in KXZP, vol. 6, p. 108; ‘Kangxi, 02/04/54 (04/05/1715)’, in KXZP, vol. 6, pp. 121–25.
61. ‘Kangxi, [1715] (undated)’, in KXZP, vol. 6, p. 108. ‘Kangxi, 02/06/47(07/19/1708)’,
in KXZP, vol. 2, p. 63; KXZP, vol. 6, p. 108; ‘Kangxi, 02/04/54 (04/05/1715)’, in KXZP,
vol. 6, pp. 121–25. The original Kangxi words read, ‘西洋人到中國將三百年未見有不
好處若是無大關從寬亦可’.
62. The term yangchuan 洋船 (ocean ships) was also used to designate ships in the domestic
coastal trade, as well as the ships engaged in the junk trade with South East Asia in this
period, meaning ‘ocean-going ships’. This would answer the question of why the Hong
merchants were called yangshang 洋商. For the use of yangchuan to mean ‘domestic
ocean-going ship’, see, for instance, ‘YZZP, Y 07/09/03(12/10/1725)’, in GZDYZC, vol. 5,
pp. 99–100 and 243. Yangshang was used to designate this group of Chinese merchants as
far back as the Ming dynasty. Before the 1750s, European merchants were named mainly
xiyangren. It was not, as Lydia Liu has argued, that a need to distinguish led to the Hong
merchants being named yangshang (ocean merchants) while the Western merchants
acquired the name yishang 夷商 (yi merchants); see Liu, Clash of Empires, pp. 35–36.
Yi became the main word for Europeans started in the 1750s. The linguistic distinction
before the 1750s was between yang (ocean going) and xi (western), not between yang and
yi, and after the 1750s between hangshang 行商 and yishang.
63. For yangchuan 洋舡, see ‘Kangxi, 10/08/55 (09/25/1716)’, in KXZP, vol. 7, p. 356; for
xiyangzi 西洋字, see ‘Kangxi, 15/06/59 (19/07/1720)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 703; for
xiyangwujian 西洋物件, see ‘Kangxi, 16/09/55 (30/10/1716)’, in KXZP, vol. 7, p. 441;
for xiyangfalan 西洋法藍, see ‘Kangxi, 28/09/55 (11/11/1716)’, in KXZP, vol. 7, p. 451;
for yangbu 洋布, see ‘Kangxi, 16/r6/60 (29/07/1721)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 822.
64. For xiyangdaren 西洋大人 and xiyangjiaohuawang 西洋教化王, see ‘Kangxi, 27/07/57
(23/08/1718)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 268.
65. ‘Yongzheng, 12/02/04 (15/03/1726)’, in YZZP, vol. 5, p. 610.
66. ‘Kangxi, 09/01/58 (21/031717)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 382.
67. For chuanjiao xiyangren 傳教西洋人, see ‘Yongzheng, 29/10/02 (14/12/1724)’, in

GZDYZC, vol. 13, pp. 392–93.
68. For instance, yichuan 彝舡, see ‘Kangxi 27/07/57 (23/08/1718)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 268; for
yiren 彝人 and yuanyi 遠彝, see ‘Kangxi, 09/01/58 (21/03/1717)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 38;
for yichuan 彝船, see ‘Yongzheng, 28/06/03 (06/08/1725)’, in SLXK, p. 132; for yi 彝商,
see ‘Kangxi, 10/04/59(16/05/1720)’ in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 668; for yimu 彝目 (headmen), see
‘Kangxi, 15/05/58(02/07/1719)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 489.
69. For the last instance of the 彝 yi, see ‘Qianlong, 11/05/20 (20/06/1755)’, in SLXK, p. 190.
70. Liu has documented how the Chinese people on the street called Europeans ‘devil’ in the
decades after China was defeated in the First Opium War and other wars; see Clash of
Empires, pp. 99–107.
71. See Hunter, Fan Kwae.
72. For xiyang yiren, see, for example, D-QZQQXYTZJ, pp. 78–80, 85, 88, 91, 121, 160, 163,
166, 172, 236, 254, 364, and 384; for ‘the uncultured of afar’, see SLXK, vol. 10, p. 354.
73. For yuanren 遠人, see ‘Kangxi, 11/07/61 (22/08/1722)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 912; for waig-
uozhiren 外國之人, see ‘Yongzheng, 29/10/02 (14/12/1724)’, in GZDYZC, vol. 13, p. 393;
for fanke 番客, see ‘Kangxi, 10/08/55 (25/09/1716)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 356; for fanbo
番舶, see ‘Kangxi, 12/08/58 (25/09/1719)’; for fanchuan 番船, see ‘Yongzheng, 20/04/04
(21/05/1726)’, in GZDYZC, vol. 5, p. 828; for xiyangchuan 西洋船 and yangchuan 洋船,
see ‘Yongzheng, 20/04/04 (21/05/1726)’, in GZDYZC, vol. 5, p. 828; for yangchuan 洋舡,
see ‘Kangxi 10/08/55 (25/09/1716)’, in KXZP, vol. 8, p. 356.
74. PRO, FO 1048/17/54.
75. ‘Qianlong, 11/10/20 (01/12/1755)’, in SLXK, pp. 227–28.
77. For Flint incident–related memorials and edicts, see SLXK, pp. 50–53, 62–68, 86–88, 107,
and 164.
79. For the Macartney-related memorials and court edicts, see Diyi Lishi Dang’anguan (ed.),
Yingshi Magaerni.
80. For a narrative of the case, see Wood, ‘England, China and the Napoleonic Wars’; and
Chapter 6 of this book.
81. For the memorials, see QDWJSL-JQ, passim.
82. ‘Qianlong, 25/10/24 (14/12/1759)’, in SLXK, p. 166. See also ‘Qianlong, 24/09/33
(04/11/1768)’, in SLXK, pp. 225–26; and ‘Qianlong, 21/02/34 (28/03/1769)’, in SLXK,
p. 469.
83. Fang, ‘Yi, Yang, Xi, Wai and Other Terms’.
84. The Analects, 8:3. The original Chinese read: 夷狄之有君不如諸夏之亡也; translation
adapted from Slingerland, Confucius Analects, p. 18.
85. Yi (彝) is now used as the name for an ethnic minority people from the south-west of
China in the Yunnan region.
86. For examples, A-NGDKDA, 033544, 033617, 033720, 034133, 034511, 034532, 034540,
034659, 034723, 034814, 035055, 035854, and 201475.
87. A-NGDKDA, 039773-001 (1627), 035776-001(1655).
88. For other examples of the Ming’s using of the second yi to name Europeans, see
A-NGDKDA, 201523-001 (the Dutch), 201859-001 (the Dutch), 035749-001 (the Dutch),
034563-001, 201861, 034739, 033943, 201513, 201673. For other examples of the Qing’s
Notes to pp. 98–104 183
use of the first yi, see A-NGDKDA, 038203, 037031, 150407, 03977, 037869, 038193,
132193, 119954, 277586, 074467, 072455, 149894, and 075790.
89. For examples, A-NGDKDA, 013033, 070473, 013939, 016268, 020536, 050961, 052242,
070478, and 194596.
90. For studies of Zeng Jing’s case, see Spence, Treason by the Book, and Liu, Clash of Empires,
pp. 83–87.
91. Liu, Clash of Empires, pp. 85–86.
92. For the edict, see A-NGDKDA, 127538, Qing Shilu, Yongzheng, juan 130, pp. 21–23. The
original Chinese read, ‘窮鄉僻壤咸使聞知’ and ‘將此等字樣空白及更換者照大不敬
律治罪’. Lydia Liu saw the changes simply as a response to the Zeng Jing case (Crash of
Empires, p. 85), but in fact this practice started in the early Qing.
93. D-QZQQXYTZJ, vol. 1, pp. 177–78; SLXK, pp. 353–54; PRO, FO 233/189, f. 10;
A-NGDKDA, 075790, 076863, 077763, and 079383.
94. Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, p. 8.
95. Lin, Lin Wenzhong gong riji, p. 442.
96. Hunter, Fan Kwae, p. 143.
97. Hunter, Bits of Old China, pp. 2, 8, and 16. See also ‘Public Dinner at the British Factory’,
Register 5:2 (16 Jan 1832).
98. For the dinners, see Hunter, Bits of Old China, pp. 7–12.
99. For their luxurious items, see the advertisements in Canton English newspapers, espe-
cially from Markwick & Lane, who supplied the Canton foreign community with daily
goods. For instance, in Register 2:10 (26 May 1829), 2:11 (2 June 1829), 3:6 (17 Mar 1830),
4:22 (15 Nov 1831), and 9:40 (4 Oct 1836).
100. For the Regatta Club, see, for examples, Register 3:16 (18 Aug 1830), 5:17 (3 Nov 1832),
5:18 (16 Nov 1832), 5:19 (3 Dec 1832), 10:28 (11 July 1837), 10:47 (21 Nov 1837), 8:45
(10 Nov 1835), 8:47 (24 Nov 1835), 8:49 (8 Dec 1835); Press 2:44 (8 July 1837), 2:45
(15 July 1837), 2:46 (22 July 1837), 3:11 (8 Nov 1837), 3:33 (21 Apr 1838), 3:37 (19 May
1838), 3:39 (2 June 1838), 4:9 (3 Nov 1838), 4:10 (10 Nov 1838), 4:12 (24 Nov 1838), and
4:11 (17 Nov 1838); also Hunter, Bits of Old China, pp. 276–80.
101. For instances of the report on horse racing, see Register 2:11 (2 June 1829), 3:12 (15 June
1830), 4:6 (17 Mar 1831), 4:8 (2 Apr 1831), 4:8 (2 Apr 1831), and 8:19 (12 May 1835).
102. See Chapter 6.
Chapter Six
1. Fay, Opium War, pp. 67–79; Chang, Commissioner Lin, pp. 51–62; Beeching, Chinese
Opium Wars, pp. 40–62.
2. Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, p. 36.
3. For the 1820 anti-opium campaign, see QDWJSL-DG, juan 1, pp. 10–11.
4. For the debt issue, see Morse, Chronicles, vol. 2, pp. 44–49; Pritchard, Crucial Years,
pp. 199–212; Chen, Insolvency of the Chinese Hong Merchants, pp. 24–29 and 192–211;
Greenberg, British Trade, pp. 20–21; quotation from Morse, Chronicles, vol. 2, p. 44.
5. IOR, G/12/19, pp. 39–46; R/10/8, pp. 38 and 124; G/12/65 and G/12/66, throughout.
‘Captain Panton’s Memorial to the Viceroy’, quoted from Pritchard, Crucial Years, p. 207.
6. The fund was the origin of the idea of modern deposit insurance. See Grant, Chinese
Cornerstone of Modern Banking.
184 Notes to pp. 105–110
7. Register 4:1 (3 Jan 1831); see also Greenberg, British Trade, p. 177.
8. For the petition and reply, see Register 2:21 (18 Nov 1829).
9. For the incidents, see Chapter 3.
10. For the petition, see Register supplement (18 Dec 1830) and 4:2 (17 Jan 1831).
11. Register 4:2 (17 Jan 1831).
12. Register 4:21 (1 Nov 1831); see introduction.
13. For the dispatch of the man-of-war from India, see Courier 1:21 (15 Dec 1831), 1:22
(22 Dec 1831), 1:23 (29 Dec 1831), 1:24 (5 Jan 1832), 1:25 (12 Jan 1832), 1:26 (19 Jan
1832), 1:29 (16 Feb 1832), 1:30 (23 Feb 1832); and Register 4:21 (1 Nov 1831), 4:24 (19 Dec
1831), 5:1 (2 Jan 1832), 5:2 (16 Jan 1832), 5:3 (2 Feb 1832). For a summary of the exchange,
see Morse, Chronicle, vol. 4, pp. 286–91.
14. Register 5:13 (3 Sept 1832) and 5:14 (17 Sept 1832).
15. ‘Right of Petition’, Register 8:2 (13 Jan 1835).
16. Ibid.
18. Ibid.
19. Pearson, ‘Merchants and States’, p. 106.
20. For Batavia, see Blusse, Strange Company, Chinese Settlers, Mestizo Women and the Dutch
in VOC Batavia.
21. Headrick, Power over Peoples, pp. 63–64 and 83.
22. Wills, China and Maritime Europe, p. 29.
23. Blusse, ‘Brief Encounter at Macao’, pp. 657–60.
24. Wills, China and Maritime Europe, pp. 68–69; Andrade, Lost Colony, p. 43.
25. Wills, China and Maritime Europe, pp. 52–53, 45–46, and 72.
26. ‘Instructions to Lt. Col. Cathcart, Nov, 30th 1787’, quoted from Morse, Chronicles, vol. 2,
p. 164.
27. ‘Instructions to Lord Macartney, Sept, 8, 1792’, quoted from Morse, Chronicles, vol. 2,
p. 238.
28. Chen, ‘Strangled by the Chinese and Kept “Alive” by the British’.
29. Morse, Chronicles, vol. 2, p. 68. Another example was voiced by the EIC’s inspector of teas
Samuel Ball in 1816. Ball recommended the Select Committee in Canton to open a second
port in China. See ‘Observations on the Expediency of Opening a Second Port in China’,
Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 6:1 (1841), pp. 182–21.
30. For archival records of the 1802 expedition, see IOR, G/12/195, pp. 208–45. For a narra-
tive of the two cases, see Wood, ‘England, China and the Napoleonic Wars’; and Morse,
Chronicles, vol. 2, pp. 357–88. The two Portuguese missionaries were Alexander de Govea
(1787–1807) and Joseph-Bernard d’Almeida (1728–1805). For the Chinese records of
their petition, see PRO, FO 233/189, pp. 168–69.
31. IOR, G/12/195, pp. 246–47, and R/10/32; PRO, FO 233/189, p. 15.
32. IOR, G/12/195, pp. 246–47, and R/10/32; PRO, FO 233/189, p. 15; Fu, Documentary,
pp. 343–44 and 369–77; Xu (ed.), Da zhong ji, pp. 213–36; Z-QGYGA, pp. 3698–827. For
a narrative of the case, see Wood, ‘England, China and the Napoleonic Wars’; and Morse,
Chronicles, vol. 3, pp. 83–99.
33. Register 4:22 (15 Nov 1831).
34. Register 4:21 (1 Nov 1831), 4:22 (15 Nov 1831), and 4:23(1 Dec 1831).
35. For the petition, see Third Report from the Select Committee of the House of Commons,
p. 526. See also Register supplement (18 Dec 1830), and 4:2 (17 Jan 1831). The texts of the
Notes to pp. 110–117 185
two were slightly different. The quotation is from the Third Report because it is clearer.
My thanks to Grace Spampinato for pointing out the difference to me.
36. ‘Chinese Islands’, Register, 10:1 (3 Jan 1837), 10:2 (10 Jan 1837), and 10:3 (17 Jan 1837).
37. Ibid. The other fifteen islands they reviewed were Haenan, Formosa, Loo Choo,
Hong Kong, Namao, Tangsoa, Kinmun, Heamun, Nan-jih, Haetan, Taechoo, Chusan,
Tinghae, Tsung-ming, Yun-tae Shan, Shan-tung, Quelpaert, and Bonin.
38. Lindsay, Letter to Lord Palmerston on British Relations with China, pp. 7–8. For an earlier
discussion in Canton on taking possession of an island, see, for instance, ‘Commerce with
China’, Register 6:4 (20 Mar 1833).
39. Register 7:51 (30 Dec 1834) and 8:2 (13 Jan 1835).
40. See Chapter 3.
41. Correspondence Relating to China, p. 406.
42. Greenberg, British Trade, p. 213.
43. Fay, Opium War, p. 319; Liam D’arcy-Brown, Chusan, pp. 66–69 and 213–14.
44. Fay, Opium War, pp. 324–38.
45. Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage to the Northern Ports of China,
p. 1.
46. Lindsay, advertisement, in Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage to
the Northern Ports of China. Lindsay called them northern because they were north to
Canton.
47. Hsü, ‘Secret Mission of the Lord Amherst on the China Coast, 1832’.
48. For Captain John Rees’s opium-selling trips, see JM, MS JM/C13 (June 1839–Nov 1840,
Letters to the China coast); for Gützlaff ’s account, see Journal of Three Voyages along the
Coast of China, p. 159. See also Lindsay and Gützlaff, Report of Proceedings on a Voyage
to the Northern Ports of China, p. 100. For a general account about Rees, see Greenberg,
British Trade, p. 141.
pp. 8–9.
50. Ibid., pp. 190–91.
p. 131.
52. Ibid. See also Hsü, ‘Secret Mission of the Lord Amherst’, p. 248; for Gützlaff ’s account of
Ma, see Journal of Three Voyages along the Coast of China, p. 213.
53. Lindsay, Letter to Palmerston on British Relations with China, p. 4.
54. Lindsay, Letter to Palmerston on British Relations with China, p. 13.
55. Morse, International Relations, p. 262.
56. Martin, China, vol. 2, p. 82.
57. Register 7:52 supplement (30 Dec 1834).
58. ‘What Steps Should the Expected Strength from England Take?’ Register 8:14 (7 Apr
1835).
59. For the so-called Jardine Plan, see Chang, Commissioner Lin, pp. 191–95; Fairbank, Trade
and Diplomacy, pp. 82–83; Fay, Opium War, pp. 190–95; and Beeching, Chinese Opium
Wars, pp. 104–7.
60. Hansard, vol. 53, 7 April 1840, pp. 702–3.
62. Register 8:8 (25 Feb 1835).
63. Ibid.
186 Notes to pp. 118–120
64. For the Glasgow, Liverpool, and Manchester petitions, see Matheson, Present Position and
Prospects of the British Trade with China, pp. 121–28. See also Le Pichon (ed.), China
Trade and Empire, pp. 553–69. For Liverpool’s petition, see also Register 9:46 (15 Nov
1836); and Press 2:11 (19 Nov 1836).
65. Matheson, Present Position and Prospects of the British Trade with China, p. 1. For the
authorship of this pamphlet, see Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, p. 292n32,
italics in original.
66. Gordon, Address to the People of Great Britain. Gordon’s pamphlet was published by
the same publishers as Matheson’s: Smith, Elder & Co., which was Matheson’s station-
ary supplier in London. The pamphlet was authored by A visitor to China; the Register
points out that it was written by George Gordon; see Register 9:33 (16 Aug 1836). George
Gordon went to China to find out the secret of tea planting and processing. Gordon’s tea
trips in 1834 and 1835 to Fujian Province were aboard the opium-selling ship of Jardine,
Matheson & Co.; he was accompanied by two missionaries, Gützlaff and Stevens. For
Gordon’s tea trips, see Fay, Opium War, p. 205.
67. Goddard, Remarks on the Late Lord Napier’s Mission to Canton, quoted from Repository
5:6 (Oct 1836), p. 250.
68. A Resident in China, British Intercourse with China, quoted from Repository 5:6 (Oct
1836), p. 253.
69. Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, p. 41. The Press stated that the petition was ‘under the
shield of Lady Napier to be presented to the king’, Press 1:1 (12 Sept 1835).
70. Register 9:21 (24 May 1836). The content of this article matches fully to the historical
circumstances. Given the proud nature of Matheson, it would be beneath him to lie about
the meeting. Thus I believe this record can be read as a faithful copy of the conversation
took place. Matheson was dubbed as C.R. (Canton Resident). Matheson probably met
Palmerston around 1 August; see JM, B1/10, f. 18. For Matheson’s campaign in London,
see also Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, p. 30.
71. Register 9:21 (24 May 1836).
72. Melancon, ‘Peaceful Intentions’. For Napier’s personal belligerent attitude, see Melancon,
Britain’s China Policy, p. 35.
73. Register 9:21 (24 May 1836).
74. Register 9:21 (24 May 1836), and 9:26 (28 June 1836).
75. Fay, Opium War, p. 189.
76. JM, C5/4, pp. 35–47; ‘Memorial to the Rt. Ho. Viscount Lord Palmerston from the British
Merchants’, Repository 8:1 (May 1839), p. 32, 8:5 (Sept 1839), p. 266. See also Fay, Opium
War, p. 190.
77. Fay, Opium War, p. 192. For the East India and China Association’s petition to Palmerston,
see Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, pp. 393–95.
78. ‘Communication from Certain Merchants of London, Relative to Measures Adopted
against China, 1840 (255)’, House of Commons Parliamentary Papers, www. parlipapers.
chadwyck.co.uk (consulted 3 August 2011).
79. JM, B6/10, L2240; see also Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, pp. 386–87. For the
East India and China Association’s petition to Palmerston, see Le Pichon (ed.), China
Trade and Empire, pp. 393–95.
80. Fay, Opium War, p. 191.
81. Lim and Smith, West in the Wider World, vol. 2, p. 214.
Notes to pp. 120–126 187
82. For Bridgman’s comment, see Repository 9:2 (May 1841), p. 296. See also Fay, Opium War,
p. 210; Lindsay, Is the War with China a Just One?
83. Warren, Opium Question; Lindsay, Is the War with China a Just One?; Slade, Narrative of
the Late Proceedings and Events in China; A Resident in China, Rupture with China.
84. For Jardine’s letter to Palmerston, see PRO, FO 17/35 (26, 27 October 1839). For Jardine
meeting Palmerston, see JM, B6/10, L2240 and 2251. See also Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade
and Empire, pp. 386–68 and 410–12; Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, p. 102; Greenberg,
British Trade, pp. 168, 170, and 191–95; Beeching, Chinese Opium Wars, p. 108; Fairbank,
Trade and Diplomacy, pp. 82–83.
85. Fairbank, Trade and Diplomacy, p. 83. See also Chang, Commissioner Lin, p. 194;
Greenberg, British Trade, p. 214; Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, pp. 43–44n107
and 407n164.
87. Ibid., p. 105.
88. Brewer, Sinews of Power, p. 232.
89. Morse, International Relations, pp. 270–73 and 298–318; Repository 10:1 (Jan 1841),
pp. 62–64.
90. Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, Chapters 8 and 9.
91. For Hevia’s discussion, see ‘Opium, Empire, and Modern History’, pp. 308–11. Hevia
argued that the national honour argument might be plausible but it should not be taken
as the major reason of the war.
92. Press 1:6 (17 Oct 1835).
93. Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, Chapters 8 and 9.
94. Ibid., p. 88.
95. Ibid, pp. 88 and 139.
96. Ibid., pp. 88–95.
97. Ibid., p. 105.
98. Fay, Opium War, p. 194; Le Pichon (ed.), China Trade and Empire, pp. 390 and 477.
99. Correspondence Relating to China.
100. House of Commons Debates, Hansard, vol. 53, pp. 669–949; See also ‘House of Commons’,
The Times (8, 9, 10 Apr 1840).
101. Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, pp. 123–24.
102. Report from the Select Committee on the Trade with China, p. iii.
103. Ibid.
104. Ibid., p. 111; Sussex Advertiser, 18 May 1840.
105. Report from the Select Committee on the Trade with China, pp. 1–36.
106. Tsang, Modern History of Hong Kong, p. 17.
107. For the treaties, see Inspector General of Customs, Treaties, Conventions, pp. 351–403.
108. For the extraterritoriality issue, see Cassel, Grounds of Judgment.
109. Webster, Foreign Policy of Palmerston, pp. 750–51.
110. For Palmerston’s foreign policy, see ibid.
Chapter Seven
1. The only scholar who mentions in passing the anti-war movements is Melancon,
in Britain’s China Policy, pp. 117–18.
188 Notes to pp. 127–132
2. The Times, 28 February 1843.

3. The Times, 3 October 1844.
4. Ibid.
5. The Times, 22 November 1844.
6. The Times, 19 December 1844.
7. The Times, 23 December 1844.
8. Ibid.
9. The Times, 23 and 30 December 1844.
10. Bradford Observer, 26 December 1844.
11. The Times, 9 June and 26 July 1845.
12. ‘Sir Henry Pottinger (3, 13, and 16 June 1845)’, House of Commons Debates, Hansard,
vol. 80, pp. 1384–85; vol. 81, pp. 476 and 614.
13. Leeds Times, 7 June 1845.
14. Caledonian Mercury, 16 December 1844.
15. Hereford Journal, 13 October 1841; The Spectator, vol. 13 (1840), p. 1085.
16. The Morning Post, 10 April 1840; London Standard, 10 April 1840; Morning Chronicle,
11 April 1840; Northern Liberator, 11 April 1840; Staffordshire Gazette and County
Standard, 11 April 1840; and The Spectator, 11 April 1840.
17. William Jay, ‘National Honor: A Plea for War’, The Advocate of Peace, 4:10 (Sept 1842),
pp. 225–30; The Asiatic Journal, vol. 33 (Sept–Dec 1840), p. 349.
18. The Leeds Mercury, 22 February 1840; The Sheffield and Rotherham Independent, 28 March
1840; The York Herald and General Advertiser, 29 February 1840; Report of a Public
Meeting and Lecture at Darlington . . . on China and the Opium Question (1840); and Fry,
Facts and Evidence Relating to the Opium Trade.
19. Report of a Public Meeting and Lecture at Darlington, p. 6.
20. Ibid., p. 8.
21. The Spectator, 25 April 1840.
22. The Morning Post, 25 April 1840.
23. The Spectator, 25 April 1840.
24. Ibid.
25. The Times, 25 April 1840; The Morning Chronicle, 25 April 1840; The Morning Post, 25 April
1840; The Examiner, 26 April 1840; Caledonian Mercury, 27 April, 1840; Dublin Evening
Mail, 27 April 1840; Taunton Courier, 29 April 1840; London Standard, 30 April 1840;
Fife Herald, 30 April 1840; Bradford Observer, 30 April 1840; Bath Chronicle and Weekly
Gazette, 30 April 1840; Essex Standard, 1 May 1840; Western Times, 2 May 1840; The
Northern Star and Leeds General Advertiser, 2 May 1840; Northern Star, 2 May 1840; Bucks
Herald, 2 May 1840; Sheffield Independent, 2 May 1840; Yorkshire Gazette, 2 May 1840;
Leeds Mercury, 2 May 1840; Caledonian Mercury, 2 May 1840; Leamington Spa Courier,
2 May 1840; Birmingham Journal, 2 May 1840; Carlisle Journal, 2 May 1840; Westmorland
Gazette, 9 May 1840. Soon after the meeting in Freemasons’ Hall, Earl Stanhope, in the
capacity of the chairman the Total Abstinence Society of Cupar, presented his society’s
petition against the war to the House of Lords, which was also published by a number
of newspapers. See London Standard, 12 and 13 May 1840; Morning Chronicle, 12 May
1840; The Morning Post, 12 May 1840; The Morning Post, 13 May 1840; Leamington Spa
Courier, 16 May 1840; Leicester Journal, 22 May 1840; Blackburn Standard, 20 May 1840;
Fife Herald, 14 May 1840; Chelmsford Chronicle, 15 May 1840; London Standard, 16 May
1840.
Notes to pp. 132–139 189
26. ‘Shame on the honour of England’, in The Morning Post, 2 December 1839; ‘guilt’
and ‘national sin’ in Montagu, Voice for China, p. 12; ‘indignation’ and ‘unjust war’ in
Hampshire Advertiser & Salisbury Guardian, 11 January 1840 and 9 October 1841.
27. A Resident in China, Rupture with China, p. 27.
28. London Standard, 1 January 1840 (quoted from the Morning Herald, which means it was
published in the last days of 1839). This is the earliest record of the designation ‘opium
war’ that I have found. It is possible that there were earlier uses of the name in the London
print media.
29. The pamphlet was entitled Outlines of China, Historical, Commercial, Literary, Political
and was first published as articles in The Atlas. The quotation is from Monthly Chronicle,
vol. 6 (1840), p. 118; and is in The Asiatic Journal 32 (1840), p. 285.
30. The Asiatic Journal 32 (1840), p. 285.
31. The Spectator, 28 March 1840.
32. The Times, 25 April and 1 May 1840.
33. ‘War with China’, Hansard, Deb, 7 April 1840, vol. 53, p. 716.
34. The Morning Post, 23 May 1840.
35. Leeds Times, 23 May 1840.
36. Sussex Advertiser, 11 October 1841.
37. The Spectator, 29 October 1842; The Advocate of Peace, 5:1 (Jan 1843), pp. 6–8.
38. Freeman’s Journal (Dublin), 2 December 1842, italics added.
39. The Spectator, 2 May 1840.
40. Ibid. The opium compensation issue has been argued most effectively by Peter W. Fay; see
Opium War, pp. 192–95.
41. ‘Opium Seized by the Chinese’, Hansard, Deb, 24 March 1840, vol. 53, pp. 6–12; ‘Address
to the Crown-Compensation for Opium Seized by the Chinese’, Hansard, Deb, 17 March
1842, vol. 61, pp. 759–97. The five pamphlets are Warren, Opium Question; A Resident
in China, Remarks on Occurrences in China; Statement of Claims of the British Subjects
Interested in Opium Surrendered to Captain Elliot at Canton for the Public Service; Review
of the Management of Our Affairs in China; and Opinions of the London Press.
42. The Spectator, 2 May 1840.
43. Edmonds, Origin and Progress of the War, p. 12. See also Ruskola, Legal Orientalism,
p. 129.
45. Freeman’s Journal, 2 December 1842.
46. Hereford Times, 3 December 1842.
47. ‘Chinese War’, The Advocate of Peace, 5:1 (Jan 1843), p. 8.
48. Leeds Times, 25 February 1843.
50. St. André, ‘Sight and Sound’, p. 70.
51. For works on Jesuit mission activities, see Brockey, Journey to the East. For their percep-
tion of China and its spread in Europe, see Mungello, Curious Land. For British percep-
tions of China, see Marshall and Williams, Great Map of Mankind; and Markley, Far East
and the English Imagination.
52. Register 7:25 (24 June 1834), italics in original.
53. These perceptions are frequently printed in the Canton Register; see, for instance, Register
3:24 (4 Dec 1830), 3:25 (18 Dec 1830), 5:15 (3 Oct 1832), 9:1 (5 Jan 1836).
54. Register 7:17 (29 Apr 1834).
190 Notes to pp. 139–145
55. Markley, Far East and English Imagination, p. 90.

56. Marshall and Williams, Great Map of Mankind, pp. 22–23 and 85–86.
57. Anson, Voyage Round the World, pp. 518–19.
58. Marshall and Williams, Great Map of Mankind, p. 141.
59. Murray, Letters, p. 207. See also T. H. Barrett, ‘The Opium War, by Julia Lovell’, in The
Independent, 7 October 2011.
60. The Catholic churchmen in the Philippines and Mexico also debated whether a war with
China was a ‘just war’ given China’s refusal to convert to Christianity and trade, and its
punishment of Chinese converts. See Spence, Memory Palace of Matteo Ricci, p. 44.
61. Kitson, Forging Romantic China; Porter, Ideographia and Chinese Taste; Hayot, Hypothetical
Mandarin.
62. D’Arcy-Brown, Chusan, pp. 81 and 184.
63. Staunton, Remarks on the British Relations with China.
64. Bingham, Narrative of the Expedition to China, p. 2; Bucks Herald, 12 November 1842.
65. The Spectator, 28 March 1840; reprinted in Yorkshire Gazette, 4 April 1840.
66. Northern Star, 4 April 1840.
67. Williams, Middle Kingdom, p. xiv.
68. The other two translations were Chinese romance: The Affectionate Pair and Chinese
Courtship in Verse; see Su, Ma Lixun, pp. 99–102.
69. Thoms’ translations were published mainly in the Monthly Magazine and also in the
Asiatic Journal.
70. The Monthly Magazine, May 1836, pp. 401–14.
71. Ibid.
72. Overland Friend of China, 23 August 1852. The author of this supplement according to
Thoms was Medhurst. For John Frances Davis and Keying (Qiying 耆英)’s exchange on
this, see PRO, FO 682/1979/92. See also Thoms, The Emperor of China v. the Queen of
England, p. 32; Harris, ‘Medhurst, Sir Walter Henry (1822–1885)’.
73. Thoms, Emperor of China v. the Queen of England, p. 16.
74. Thoms, Remarks on Rendering the Chinese Word Man ‘Barbarian’.
75. Ibid., p. 21. Dilip Basu (in ‘Chinese Xenology and the Opium War’) accepted Thoms’s
incorrect assumption, and Lydia Liu in turn, based on Dilip Basu’s research, assumed,
though cautiously, that there were no complaints about the word yi or yimu before the
Napier Affair (Liu, Clash of Empires, pp. 48–49). In fact, there were several confrontations
before 1834, as shown in Chapter 5 of this book.
76. The seven staff were W. H. Medhurst, Dr Bowring, John T. Meadows, D. B. Robertson,
Charles A. Sinclair, Henry Parkers, and W. H. Pedders.
77. Overland Friend of China, 23 August 1852; see also Medhurst, Remarks Touching the
Signification of the Chinese Character E; Harry Parkes, Observations on Mr P. P. Thoms’
Rendering of the Chinese Word 蠻 Man.
78. Thoms, Emperor of China v. the Queen of England, p. 6.
79. Inspector General of Customs (ed.), Treaties, Conventions, etc., between China and Foreign
States, p. 419.
80. Allen, Opium Trade, p. 52; York Herald, 29 November 1856.
81. Kendal Mercury, 15 January 1853; Lloyds Weekly Newspaper, 16 January 1853; see also
A Letter to the Duchess of Sutherland and Ladies of England.
82. For Ferrand, see Ward, W. B. Ferrand.
83. The Morning Post, 20 May 1850.
Notes to pp. 145–152 191
84. The Morning Post, 27 January 1852.

85. London Standard, 30 October 1858.
86. Wong, Deadly Dreams, pp. 458–59.
87. Ridley, Lord Palmerston, p. 467.
88. Leeds Times, 10 January 1857; London Standard, 17 March 1857; Morning Chronicle,
22 January 1859; London Daily News, 9 February 1859; Leeds Times, 2 October 1858;
North Wales Chronicle, 14 May 1859; Newcastle Journal, 22 October 1859; Leeds Mercury,
24 December 1859; Lincolnshire Chronicle, 13 January 1860; The Morning Post, 14 July
1860; London Standard, 14 July 1860; Cork Examiner, 18 July 1860; Dundee, Perth, and
Cupar Advertiser, 17 July, 14 December, and 22 December 1860; Leeds Intelligencer,
3 November 1860; Leicestershire Mercury, 17 November.
89. ‘China, Address for Papers’, House of Commons Debates, 19 February 1861, Hansard,
vol. 161, pp. 558–59; ‘Commons Sitting, Indian Opium Revenue’, 30 June 1893, Hansard,
vol. 14, p. 597.
90. ‘China, Address for Papers’, House of Commons Debates, 19 February 1861; Wakeman,
Strangers at the Gate.
91. ‘Affairs of China, Resolution’, House of Commons Debates, 31 May 1864, Hansard,
vol. 175, pp. 918 and 933.
92. ‘India and China, the Opium Traffic, Resolution’, House of Commons Debates, 25 June
1875, Hansard, vol. 225, p. 575.
93. ‘The Opium Trade, Observations’, House of Commons Debates, 4 June 1880, Hansard,
vol. 252, pp. 1248, and 1276; 29 April 1881, Hansard, vol. 260, pp. 1496 and 1513. ‘Indian
Opium Revenue’, House of Commons Debates, 30 June 1893, Hansard, vol. 14, p. 596.
94. ‘The Opium Trade with China’, House of Commons Debates, 3 May 1889, Hansard,
vol. 335, pp. 1178–79; ‘The Indian Opium Traffic’, House of Commons Debates, 10 April
1891, Hansard, vol. 352, p. 310.
95. ‘The Indian Opium Traffic’, House of Commons Debates, 10 April 1891, Hansard, vol. 352,
pp. 326–27.
96. ‘Sir A. Chamberlain’s Statement’, House of Commons Debates, 10 February 1927, Hansard,
vol. 202, p. 384.
97. ‘Shanghai Defence Force’, House of Commons Debates, 16 March 1927, Hansard, vol. 203,
p. 2139.
98. ‘Lords Sitting Address in Reply to Her Majesty’s Most Gracious Speech’, House of
Commons, Debates, 3 November 1971, Hansard, vol. 325, p. 129.
99. ‘Hong Kong’, House of Commons Debates, 12 June 1997, Hansard, vol. 580, p. 1043.
100. For the relations between Opium War and Chinese nationalism, see Lovell, Opium War,
pp. 292–332.
Chapter Eight
1. Fairbank has studied the transformation from Canton system to treaty ports, but he did
not take into account the role of knowledge making. Thus he identified it as a moderniza-
tion process of opening up the closed China; see Trade and Diplomacy, p. 5.
2. Zheng, Social Life of Opium in China, p. 205; Sanello and Hanes, Opium Wars; Paulès,
Histoire d’une Drogue en Sursis: L’opium à Canton; and ‘Opium in the City’.
3. The seminal argument on Hoppo was in Fairbank, Trade and Diplomacy, pp. 49–50.
192 Notes to pp. 152–158
4. Fichter, So Great a Proffit, pp. 225–27.

5. Press 3:24 (17 Feb 1837).
6. Brown, Itinerant Ambassador, p. 28.
7. Trocki, Opium, Empire, and the Global Political Economy; Baumler (ed.), Modern China
and Opium; Brook and Wakabayashi (eds.), Opium Regimes; Slack, Opium, State, and
Society; Paulès, La Chine des Guerres de L’opium à Nos Jours; and L’opium: Une passion
chinois.
8. Hevia, ‘Opium, Empire, and Modern History’, p. 314.
9. Ibid., pp. 311–12.
10. Ibid., p. 311.
11. Wang, ‘Merchants without Empire: The Hokkien Sojourning Communities’.
Glossary
baojia 保甲 fooyun 撫員 (Fuyuan)

baoshang 保商 Fuheng 傅恒
bumei 不美
gai shang 該商
Chin Seang 陳相 (Chen Xiang) gai yi ziwai shengcheng 該夷自外
chuanjiao xiyanren 傳教西洋人生成
Cohong 公行 (Gonghang) ganjie 甘結
gong 貢
dabujing 大不敬 gongsuo 公所
Da Qing huidian 大清會典 gouyin 勾引
Daxiyang 大西洋 guilao 鬼佬
Dayingguo 大英國 Guangdong jiangjun 廣東將軍
Dayingguo renshi lüeshuo 大英國人事 Guangdong xunfu 廣東巡撫
略說 Guangzhoufu 廣州府
Deng Tingzhen 鄧廷楨
di 狄 Haiguo tuzhi 海國圖志
Dinghai 定海 hangshang 行商
Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan hanjian 漢奸
東西洋考每月統紀傳 Helan 荷蘭
Heshenguo shuo 合省國說
Falanxi 法蘭西 Heu Hing 許行 (Xu Xing)
fan 番 or 蕃 Heu Tsze 許子 (Xu Zi)
fanbo 番舶 hongmaogui 紅毛鬼
fanchuan 番船 hongyi dapao 紅彝大砲／紅夷大砲
fangfan waiyi guitiao 防範外夷規條 Hoppo 戶部 (Hubu)
fangfan yiren zhangcheng 防範夷人 huaji 話計
章程 huangli 黃曆／皇曆
fanke 番客 huantianyi 渾天儀
fanren 蕃人 Huashengdun 華盛頓
194 Glossary
huozhengchuan 火蒸船 min 民

huozhengche 火蒸車 mingjun 明君
muhua yuanlai 慕化遠來
ji 集
jianggugui 講古鬼 Naerjinge 納爾經額
Jiaqing 嘉慶 Nanhai 南海
jing 經 Napoliweng 拿破戾翁
Neiwufu 內務府
Kangxi 康熙
Kangxi zidian 康熙字典 Pan Youdu 潘有度
Ke’erjishan 喀爾吉善 Panyu 番禺
kurouji 苦肉計 Ping’an tongshu 平安通書
Lanlun oushuo 蘭倫偶說 qian 錢

liangguang zongdu 兩廣總督 Qianlong 乾隆
Liang Guofu 梁國富 Qingfu 慶復
Liang Tingnan 梁廷枏 qinshou 禽獸
Li Guanghua 黎光華
Li Hongbin 李鴻賓 renyi zhi maoyi 任意之貿易
Lin Huai 林懷 rong 戎
Lin Quande 林全德 rouyuan 柔遠
Lin Xing 林興
Lin Zexu 林則徐 sanshang 散商
Li Shiyao李侍堯 Shangshu 尚書
Li Taiguo 李太郭 Shao Zhenghu 邵正笏
Liu Yabian 劉亞匾 shengcheng 生成
Li Yongbiao 李永標 Shennong 神農
lu 虜 shi 史
Lu Kun 盧坤 Shun 舜
Luoyang 洛陽 Siku Quanshu 四庫全書
Lüsong (呂宋)
taipan 大班 (daban)
Ma Lixun 馬禮遜 Tengwengong 滕文公
man 蠻 Tianjin 天津
manyi 蠻夷 tianxia 天下
maoyi 貿易 tidu 提督
Maoyi tongzhi 貿易通志 timian 體面
Meilige heshengguo zhilüe 美理哥合省 tixu 體恤
國志略 tizhi 體制
Mencius 孟子 (Mung-tsze; Mengzi) tongshang 通商
Glossary 195
tongshi 通事 Ye Duhua 葉櫝花

tongshu 通書 yi 夷
tuyi 土夷 yi 彝
yichuan 彝舡 or 彝船
wai 外 yichuan 夷船
waiguo 外國 yiguo 夷國
waiguozhiren 外國之人 Yili 伊犁
waiyi 外夷 yimu 彝目
Wang Shengyi 汪聖儀 yimu 夷目
Wangzhe buzhi yidi lun 王者不治 Yinghuan zhilüe 瀛寰志略
夷狄論 yinshui 引水
Wei Yuan 魏源 yiqiu 夷酋
Wen 文 yiren 彝人
Wu Bingjian 伍秉鑑 yiren 夷人
wu caineng 無材能 yishan 彝商
Wu Jinsheng 武進陞 Yongzheng 雍正
Wu Qitai 吳其泰 yuan 遠
yuanfan 遠番
Xiangshan 香山 yuanren 遠人
Xie Wu 謝五 (Woo-Yay 五爺) yuanyi 遠彝
xiguo 西國 yuanyi 遠夷
xiyang 西洋 Yue Fei 岳飛
xiyangdaren 西洋大人 Yue haiguan jiandu 粵海關監督
xiyangfalan 西洋法藍 Yue Zhongqi 岳鐘琪
xiyang jiaohuawang 西洋教化王
xiyangren 西洋人 Zeng Jing 曾靜
xiyangren lishiguan 西洋人理事官 Zheng Chenggong 鄭成功
xiyang shichen 西洋使臣 Zhiguo zi yong dalüe 制國之用大略
xiyangwujian 西洋物件 Zhili 直隸
xiyang yiren 西洋夷人 Zhongxiang 中祥
xiyangzi 西洋字 Zhou Renji 周人驥
Xu Jiyu 徐繼畬 Zhoushan 舟山
Xu Xing 許行 Zhu Guizhen 朱桂楨
zi 子
yangbu 洋布 zishi fuqiang 自恃富強
yangchuan 洋舡；洋船 Zi wai ji fu 子外寄父
yangjiu 洋酒 ziwai shengcheng 自外生成
Yang Tingzhang 楊廷璋 ziyou maoyi 自由貿易
Yang Yingju 楊應琚 zongbingguan 總兵官
Yapian zhanzheng 鴉片戰爭 zongshang 總商
Bibliography
Notes on sources
The main sources of this research are English-language newspapers, journals, and
pamphlets; Chinese-language pamphlets and books published by the Canton foreign
communities; and related Chinese and English archives. Most of the English news-
papers are housed in the British Library (Colindale London) and can now be found
in various online databases. The English pamphlets along with Chinese publications
of the Canton foreign community were consulted in Cambridge University Library,
SOAS Library, Oxford Bodleian Library, and Leeds University Library. Most of them
are now also available on the Internet.
The letters and other official documents related to the East India Company are
held in the British Library and the National Archives, UK (NAUK, Kew). Protestant
missionaries’ archives are in the SOAS Library, while most private merchants’ related
documents are in the Jardine Matheson Archives (Cambridge University Library).
Ming and Qing dynasty official documents that are held in the National Palace
Museum and in the Academia Sinica can be accessed from their websites. There are
also a good deal of the archives related to Canton that are published in various collec-
tions. I visited the First Historical Archives of China two times for unpublished offi-
cial documents. The Hong merchants’ communications with the EIC staff of Canton
are housed in the NAUK, which also contains a good number of Qing official docu-
ments in the collection. I also used a few Jesuit collections housed in the Biblioteca
Apostólica Vaticana, Roma.
Abbreviations
A-NGDKDA—Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica 中央研究院歷史語言研
究所. The Archives of the Grand Secretariat (Niege daku dangan 內閣大庫檔案; www.ihp.
sinica.edu.tw).
A-HJQWZLK—Institute of History and Philology, Academia Sinica 中央研究院歷史語言研
究所. Scripta Sinica Database (Hanji quanwen zhiliaoku 漢籍全文資料庫; www.hanchi.
ihp.sinica.edu.tw).
Bibliography 197
Courier—The Chinese Courier and Canton Gazette

DGMZ—Daoguang mi zou 道光密奏 [The secret edicts and memorials of the Daoguang
emperor].
DGZP—Daoguang zhupi 道光硃批 [Edicts and memorials with the Daoguang emperor’s ver-
milion comments].
D-QZQQXYTZJ—Diyi Lishi Dang’anguan 第一歷史檔案館, ed., Qing zhongqianqi xiyang
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EIC—East India Company
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IOR—India Office Record, British Library, London
JM—Jardine Matheson Archive, Cambridge University Library
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comments].
KXCHWZPZZHB—Kangxi chao Hanwen zhupi zouzhe huibian 康熙朝漢文硃批奏摺彙編
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PRO, FO—Public Record Office, Foreign Office, in the National Archives, Kew, London, UK
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chubanshe, 1963; first published 1930–1931.
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milion comments].
Z-QGYGA—Zhongguo guji zhengli yanjiu hui 中國古籍整理研究會, ed., Qinggong Yue Gang
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Dates of memorials and edicts

1. K29/10/02 (14/12/1724), for instance: “K” stands for Kangxi emperor’s reign, thus
K29/10/02 means the 29th day of the tenth month in the second year of the Kangxi
emperor’s reign. The dates in brackets are the responding dates of Gregorian calendar
(dd/mm/yyyy).
2. “r” in the month means an intercalary month in the lunar calendar such as in Q25/r06/24—
this indicates that there were two sixth months in that year and this was the second one.
3. Emperor’s reign: D—the Daoguang; J—the Jiaqing; K—the Kangxi; Q—the Qianlong;
Y—the Yongzheng.
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Index
References to charts are denoted using c.
Aberdeen (George Hamilton-Gordon), 128 Board of Control, 57, 117

abolition of slavery, 85, 126, 130, 144, 156 Board of Trade, 24
Address to the People of Great Britain, 118 Boxer War, 158
Advocate of Peace, 129 Brewer, John, 121
Aesop’s Fables, 72c Bridgman, Elijah Coleman, 59, 64–65,
Afghanistan war, 126 70–71, 72c, 74–77, 79–81, 120
agency system, 13 Brief Account of the English Character, A
all under heaven (tianxia) ideology, 5, 152, (Dayingguo renshi lüeshuo), 58, 87
156 Bright, John, 24, 145, 147
Americans, 8, 36–37, 100, 140 Britain: China policy, 23, expedition
Amherst embassy, 49, 81, 140 troops, viii, 103, 114–17, 126, 129–31,
Analects, 97 140; Foreign Office, 16, 123, 143;
Anglo-Chinese College, 71 imperialism, 9, 20, 46, 150; inner
Anson, George, 139 opium war, 144; jurisdiction, 108, 110;
Anti-Corn Law League, 24, 145, 147 manufacturers in, 7, 24, 126–29, 136;
anti-opium campaign, 103, 120 maritime public sphere, 4, 8, 16–20, 60,
anti-war movement, 4–5: in Britain, 9, 119, 103, 153; national honour of, viii, 1–3,
126, 129–49; in Canton, 23, 32–37, 126. 6, 17, 23, 34–36, 56, 59, 79, 82, 85–87,
See also Pacific party 89–90, 92, 118–19, 121, 129–35, 141,
Asiatic societies, 19 149, 159; national interest of, 3, 6, 34,
Astronomy Bureau, 96–97 36, 130, 134, 146, 159; nationalistic
Auckland, Earl (George Eden), 125, 157 discourse, 105, 110; party politics of,
7, 10, 61, 103, 115–23, 133, 150, 155;
barbarian eye ( yimu), 54, 84–85, 90, 94–95 rights of subjects, 21, 104, 130–31; trade
barbarian, discourse of. See yi controversy expansion, viii, 4, 6, 9, 15, 36, 90, 104,
Batavia massacre, 46, 158 118, 126, 151; war decision, 3, 103, 117,
Battle of Plassey, 154 121, 123. See also India, British rule in
Baynes, William, 22 British and Foreign Bible Society, 80
Beeching, Jack, 6 British domestic press: Asiatic Journal, 19,
beheading, 55–56, 59, 100 90, 92, 129, 133; Edinburgh Review, 65;
Beijing Gazetteer (Jingbao), 96 Evening Mail, 19; Examiner, 133; Globe,
Bentinck, William, 106 133; Leeds Times, 128, 134, 137; London
Bingham, John Elliot, 141 Standard, 132; Monthly Chronicle, 133;
Index 223
Morning Chronicle, 132–33; Morning Chinese domestic rebellion, 5, 45, 52, 58, 87,
Herald, 19, 133; Morning Post, 132; 98, 139–40, 153
Oriental Herald, 19; Penny; Magazine, Chinese knowledge of Europeans, 45–49,
19, 64; Quarterly Review, 19, 90; 52–53, 60–81, 159: as uncultured, 91,
Spectator, 132–36, 141–42, 146, 149, 95, 97–102
151; Times (London), 19, 132, 134. See Chinese literati, 28, 46, 98, 139
also anti-war movement; war argument Chinese printing facilities, 58, 62–63:
British Intercourse with China, 118 restrictions on, 74, 79
Brook, Timothy, 156 Chinese Repository (1832–1851), 18, 20, 26,
Brougham, Henry, 65, 134 63–66, 76, 90
Brunswick (EIC ship), 14 Chinese sovereignty, 35–36
Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 140 Chinese war. See First Opium War, naming
Chinese-language publications, 9, 27–29,
Calcutta Gazette, 18 61–81, 87–89: literary style, 70. See also
Canton foreign population, 8 Chinese almanacs; maps; SDUKC
Canton lobby, 5, 42, 39–45 Chinese-Western relations. See Sino-Western
Canton Press, 4, 11, 18, 26, 32–37, 56, 75, relations
91, 101, 116: American connections, Christianity: morality, 9, 29, 64, 129, 133,
33n105 149; ban in China, 46–47, 68, 79, 94,
Canton Regatta Club, 101 101, 139; proselytization, 76, 79–81,
Canton Register, 1–3, 9, 11–12, 15–28, 30–37, 119, 138, 153
54, 60, 62–64, 66, 75, 80, 83–85, 90–92, Chusan, 110, 112, 129–30, 140
99, 101, 106, 109–11, 115–17, 161: Price Civil Service Examination, 31, 152
Current, 12. See also ‘Prize Essay’ civilizing discourse, 6, 61–62, 65, 92, 101–2,
Canton system, 8, 10, 16, 25, 31, 36, 38–40, 110, 132–33, 139, 144
42; 45–60, 63, 79, 87, 93, 96, 99, 101–4, Cobden, Richard, 24, 147
106, 111, 124, 140, 150, 152–59. See also Cohong (Gonghang), 46, 50
EIC; Hong merchants; Qing Collectanes of Elementary and Useful
Cao Wen, 46 Information, 68–69
Cathcart, Charles, 58,108 Collie, David, 30
Catholic Church, 46. See also Jesuit Collis, Maurice, 6
missionaries; knowledge of China, Commissioner Li (Li Yongbiao), 43–44, 47
Jesuit Commissioner Lin (Lin Zexu), viii, 6, 55,
Catholic missionaries 74–75, 83, 100, 132, 147, 155–56.
Challenger (HMS), 1, 106 See also neo-Confucianism; opium,
Chamber of Commerce: Manchester, 24, confiscation crisis of 1839
127; Canton (General Chamber of compradors, 50
Commerce), 56–57 Confucianism, 5, 27, 30–31, 47–49, 60, 67,
charitable organizations, 15–16, 62 84, 88, 98–101, 138, 150, 152, 155,
Chartists, 130–32 158–59
Cherish Men from Afar, 96 Convention of Chuanbi, 121
Chiang Kai-shek, 156 Corn Laws, 24
Chin Seang, 30 cotton trade, 105, 145, 156
Chinese almanacs, 68–69, 73c Council Chamber, Liverpool, 127
Chinese butchery, 135, 141
Chinese Courier and Canton Gazette, 18, 26, Dao, 67
64, 101 Daoguang emperor, 22, 54, 58, 87, 97, 100
224 Index
Davis, 53 11–12, 15–28, 30–37, 54, 60, 62–64,

Deng Tingzhen, 54, 91 66, 75, 80, 83–85, 90–92, 99, 101, 106,
Dent, Lancelot, 91 109–11, 115–17, 161; Chinese Courier
Dent & Co., 32, 105 and Canton Gazette, 18, 26, 64, 101;
devil system (gui), 93–95 Chinese Repository (1832–1851), 18,
di (northern people), 97, 99 20, 26, 63–66, 76, 90; Hawaiian
Dickens, Charles, 88–89 Spectator, 18; Hobart Town Courier
Dictionary, Practical, Theoretical and (Sydney), 18–19; Indo China Gleaner,
Historical of Commerce and Commercial 20; Malacca Observer and Chinese
Navigation, 27, 29, 153 Chronicle, 18, 20; Northern Star, 141;
Dictionary of the Chinese Language, A, 71, Penang Register & Miscellany, 18; Perth
83, 90, 142 Gazette, 18; Prince of Wales’ Island
disturbance of 1830 and 1831, 20–24 Gazette, 18; Sandwich Island Gazette
Dongxiyang kao meiyue tongjizhuan (Eastern and Journal of Commerce, 18; Singapore
Western monthly magazine), 28, 63–64, Chronicle, 18, 21, 32–33; Singapore Free
71, 72c, 74–76, 87, 143 Press, 18; Sydney Gazette, 18; Western
Downing, C. T., 75 Australian Journal (Perth), 18. See also
Drury, William O’Bryen, 109 anti-war movement; knowledge of
Dyer, Samuel, 70 China; insular China; Pacific party;
peaceable China; war argument;
East India and China Associations, 120 Warlike party
East India Company (EIC): as producers Enlightenment, 8–9, 101, 138, 149
of knowledge, 3, 83–87, 119; Board of European ports on China coast, 107–12
Directors, 140; Court of Directors, 51, European rivalries, 107–9
106, 158; decline, 12, 16, 24, 48, 104; extraterritoriality, 54, 124
diplomatic engagement, 21–22, 40–42,
44, 47, 54, 59, 81, 107, 110; and Hong Fairbank, John King, 6
merchants, 44, 48; in India, 57, 155; Fang Weigui, 97
monopoly in China, 8, 12–13, 16, 24, Fan-Qui in China in 1836–7, The, 75
25, 30–31, 53, 57, 104, 159; petition, Fay, Peter Ward, 6
59, 83–84; Select Committee, 21, 51, Ferrand, W. B., 145
54, 105, 109; security, 108–9; trading Fichter, James, 152
practices, 51–53, 154. See also opium; First Opium War: beginning of, viii, 56;
supercargo system; tea trade casualties, 134–35; end of, 29;
Edmonds, John Worth, 136, 138 historiography, 3, 6, 8; naming, 4, 126,
Elements of International Law, 75 132n28, 133–37, 146; profiteering,
Elliot, Charles, viii, 34, 54, 112, 121, 123 135–36; regret over, 9, 144–49; Yapian
Encyclopaedia of Geography, The, 75 Zhanzheng, 148. See also anti-war
English Factory: archives, 15, 57, 109; insult movement; Britain, party politics of;
at 1, 22, 54. See also EIC; Thirteen Chinese butchery; civilizing discourses;
Factories knowledge of China; profit orders;
English-language merchant port presses: SDUKC; treaty ports; war argument
Bengal Hurkaru (Calcutta), 18; Bombay Flint, James, 42–45, 47–48, 54
Gazette, 18; Calcutta Courier, 18, 33; Fooyun (Fu Yuan), 34
Canton Miscellany, 18, 62; Canton Forbes family, 13
Press, 4, 11, 18, 26, 32–37, 56, 75, 91, Formosa (Taiwan), 108, 112
101, 116; Canton Register, 1–3, 9, Fox, Thomas, 76
Index 225
Franklin, Benjamin, 33 Kingdom of China and the Situation

free trade ports. See treaty ports Thereof ), 138
free trade, 2, 4, 15, 23–31, 62–63, 72c, 77, 79, History of England, A, 71
110, 112, 127–28, 145, 147, 150–51, 153, History of the Jews, A, 80
157, 159 Hobhouse, John Cam, 117
Friends, 131 Hong Kong, 103, 107, 110–12, 121, 124, 126,
Fuhuan, 41, 45 143, 147: handover, 146, 148
Hong merchants: and Canton system, 33,
Gelber, Harry G., 6 49–54, 56–57; as information source,
General Account of Great Britain (Dayinguo 13; as go-betweens, 16, 21–22, 38,
tongzhi), 89 46; debt of, 44, 48, 104–5, 124, 151;
General History of the World, A, 71 monopoly of, 25, 29–30; security
George IV, 1, 17, 22, 105–6 merchants (baoshang), 50. See also
Goddard, James, 118 Cohong
Gordon, George, 118, 118n66 Hongkong Bank, 56
Gough, Hugh, 134 Hoppo (Yue Haiguan jiandu), 49, 152
Graham, Gerald S., 6 Horsburgh, James, 16
Graham, James, 117, 136, 145 Horsburgh’s Charts, 16
Grand Chop, 50 House of Commons, 117, 123, 134
Grand Council, 41, 58 House of Lords, 146
Grant, Charles, 24, 57 Howqua (Wu Bingjian), 13, 32, 50
Great Qing Code, 99 Hsin-pao Chang, 6
Green, John Cleve, 13, 78
Greenberg, Michael, 63 India, British rule in, 2, 21, 57, 62, 104–9,
Grey, Charles, 57, 103 118–19, 125, 154–56
Grey, Earl (Henry George), 146–47 Indian and Burmese wars, 57
Guangzhou. See Canton industrial revolution, 145
gunboat diplomacy, 119, 143 Inglis, Robert, 78, 119, 124
Gützlaff, Karl, 28–29, 31, 58–59, 63–64, Innes, James, 76, 78–79
70–75, 72c–73c, 77, 79, 81, 83n6, 85–89, insular China, discourse of, 3, 6, 9, 26,
93, 101, 112–13, 116, 153 61–62, 65, 67–69, 76–79, 112, 126, 134,
137, 138–49, 150–53
Haiguo tuzhi (Illustrated treatise on Is the War with China a Just One?, 120
maritime countries), 75
Han, 38, 58, 98–99, 140 Jardine, Matheson & Co., 14, 32, 66, 78, 81,
Hanes, W. Travis, III, 6 105, 113
Haughton, James, 135 Jardine, William, 3–4, 14, 17–19, 22, 32, 37,
Hawks Pott, F. L., 6 63, 71, 76, 78, 91, 112, 115–16, 120–24,
headman system, 49–55 128
Heshenguo shuo (Accounts on the Jardine plan, 4, 115–16, 120. See also war
United States, 1844), 76 plan
Heu Hing, 30–31 Jesuit missionaries, 3, 45–46, 97, 108, 138.
Hevia, James, 96, 121, 156 See also under Qing
Hillard, Harriet Low, 26n73 Jiaqing period, 47
Historia de las cosas más notables, ritos y Jurchen dynasty, 98
costumbres del gran reyno de la China justice, discourse of, 9, 15, 27, 32–33, 104–6,
(The History of the Great and Mighty 110–11, 119, 129–30, 141–48, 150
226 Index
Kai-wing Chow, 99 Lintin Island, 14–15, 35, 71, 140, 157. See
Kangxi zidian, 92 also opium, trade
Kangxi emperor, 45–47, 82, 93, 97, 154–55 Lin Zexu. See Commissioner Lin
Keating, Arthur S., 26n73 Li Shiyao, 47
Ke’erjishan, 40–41 Liu, Lydia, 86, 99
Kerry, John Forbes, 13 Liu Yabian, 43, 47
King, Charles W., 78 Li Yongbiao (Commissioner Li), 43–44, 47
knowledge of China: British domestic, Lord Amherst, 58, 85–86, 111–13
23, 29–30, 90, 119, 141; Canton Lovell, Julia, 6
merchant, 3, 8, 57–58, 61–81, 116–17, lu (northern tribes), 98–99
120, 125; Jesuit, 3, 67, 119, 126, Lu Kun, 34, 48, 53–54, 107, 116
139–41; language barrier to, 70, 77,
83; military intelligence, 3–4, 8, Macao, 17, 38, 41, 48, 83–84, 94, 97, 107–9,
113–14, 120, 123; trade, ix, 13, 113; 112
production of new, 2–6, 120–21, Macartney embassy, 49, 53, 53n89, 58, 81,
125, 139–40, 150; Protestant 83, 96, 109, 139
missionaries, 3, 20, 26, 28–30, 58, Macaulay, Thomas, 134
61–81; Qing impediments to, 38, 47, Magniac & Co., 105
59, 70–71; Warlike party, 6, 150–53. Malacca, 107
See also EIC; English-language Manchu, 39, 46–48, 58, 98, 140
merchant port presses; SDUKC mandate of heaven, 99
Koxinga (Zheng Chenggong), 108 manhood suffrage, 130
kurouji, 55 Maoyi tongzhi (General account on trade),
28–29
Lady Hughes, 103, 108, 124 maps: of China, 68, 120; world, 72c. See also
Lanlun oushuo (Accounts of London, 1845), Western knowledge, world geography
76 Marco Polo, 138
Lansbury, George, 148 Marjoribanks, Charles, 58, 101, 109
Lay, George Tradescant (Li Taiguo), 75–76, Markwick & Lane, 16
79–80 Martin, W. A. P., 6
Lazich, Michael C., 76 Matheson, Alexander, 21, 120
Legalist school, 44–45 Matheson, James, 1, 3, 14, 17, 19, 22, 32–33,
Legrand, Marcellin, 71 37
Leibniz, 138 McCartee, Divie Bethune, 69
Letter to Lord Palmerston on British Relations McCulloch, John Ramsey, 27, 29, 151, 153
with China, 89 Medhurst, Walter Henry, 143–44
Leveson (Granville George Leveson-Gower), Medical Missionary Society, 15, 78
143 Mediterranean maritime world, 107
Liang Guofu, 41, 45 Meilige heshengguo zhilüe (A history of the
Liang Tinglan, 74, 76 United States), 72c, 74–76
Li Guanghua, 44, 48 Melancon, Glenn, 6–7, 103, 121–22
Li Hongbin, 21–22, 105–6 Melbourne (William Lamb), 122
Lima, Peru, 88 Melbourne cabinet, 117, 120–21, 123
Lindsay, Hugh Hamilton, 22, 58, 78, 85–86, Mencius, 27, 30–31, 84, 86, 92–93
89–90, 111–16, 120, 143 Mencius, 30
Lin Huai, 43 Mendoza, Juan González de, 138
Lin Quande, 89 Middle Kingdom, The, 141
Index 227
Milton, John, 139 opium: ban, 14, 55–56, 75, 83, 91, 93, 100,
Ming, 3, 38, 46, 48, 97–99, 108, 138, 154 155–57; confiscation crisis of 1839,
Minto (Gilbert Elliot), 109 viii, 10, 69, 74–75, 103, 119, 122–24,
Monkswell (Gerard Collier), 148 133, 136, 150–51, 156; and imperial
monopoly: Canton, 5, 29, 39–42, 44, 49, 51. identity, 37, 153, 159; legalization,
See also under EIC, Hong merchants 100; merchants, 77–79, 81, 91, 100,
Mor, 123 156; moral outrage, 126, 132, 140, 149;
Morrison Education Society, 15, 78 trade, 14, 35, 63, 69, 81, 113, 116, 120,
Morrison, John Robert, 28, 59, 67–68, 70, 122, 130–34, 140, 147–53, 157. See also
73c, 77–79, 81, 91–92 Lintin Island
Morrison, Robert, 17, 20, 28–29, 31, 58–59, opium smuggling. See Lintin Island; opium,
70–71, 72c–73c, 78–80, 83, 85, 90, 142 trade
Morse, H. B., 6 Owen, Edward W. C. R., 105
movable type, 70–71
Mowqua, 107 Pacific party, 4, 8, 11–37, 56, 90, 122, 140,
Mrs Baynes incident, 22–23, 48, 103, 105, 151–54
124 Paley, William, 79
Murray, Hugh, 75 Palmerston (Henry John Temple), viii, 3–4,
Murray, John, 139–40 103, 111–21, 124–25, 128, 132, 136, 141,
mutual responsibility system (baojia), 49–55, 146, 157
51n80, 52n83 pamphleteering, 118
Panton, John Alexander, 104
Na’erjing’e, 58 papal embassy, 94
Napier, John William. See Napier Affair Parameswara, 107
Napier, Lady, 17, 119 Parker, Peter, 74–75, 77, 80
Napier Affair, 12, 16–17, 19, 25–26, 54–57, Parliament, 105–6, 110, 123, 128–30, 136–37,
65–66, 69, 71, 74, 76, 82, 85, 90, 103, 146–47
111, 115–19, 121–22, 143 Parsees, 8, 35, 56, 105
Napoleonic Wars, 2, 48 Pauthier, Jean-Pierre Guillaume, 71
nationalism, Chinese, 9, 148–49, 156 peaceable China, discourse of, 138–49, 151
neo-Confucianism, 83–84, 86, 91, 99–100, Peace Society, 126, 137, 149
141 Pearl River Delta, map, x
Neptune murder case, 83 Peel, Robert, 124, 129
Neumann, Karl Friedrich, 59 Peking court, 3, 22, 139–40
Newcastle-under-Lyme, Duke of (Henry petition: British, 130, 134; merchants to
Pelham Fiennes Pelham-Clinton), 145 British India, 106, 119; merchants to
Ningbo, 40–43, 45–48, 111, 116, 135, 141 China, 43–45, 48, 53–55, 59, 83–84,
106–7; right to, 1, 9, 104–7; war (1830),
Oliver Twist, 88 106, 110; war (1834), 17, 26, 32, 34–36,
Olyphant, D. W. C., 78 76, 82, 85, 90, 115, 118, 122, 133; war
one-port policy. See Canton system (1835), 120, 140
‘On the King Does Not Govern the Philippines massacre, 46
Uncultured’ (Wangzhe buzhi yidi lun), Pidgin English, 50, 70, 100
99 Pingan Tongshu, 69
opening China. See insular China, placards, 22–23, 71
discourse of plantation economy, 156
Ophthalmic Hospital, 15 Poankeequa, 50
228 Index
Polachek, James, 6 Roe (Thomas) embassy, 154

port fees, 41–44, 50–52, 105, 111, 124, 127 Rubinstein, Murray A., 76
portrait insult, 1, 22, 105–6
Pottinger, Henry, 121, 124, 126–29, 134, 145 Sanello, Frank, 6
prebendal system, 152 Scottish Enlightenment, 15
Present Position and Prospects of the British Sea Horse, 104
Trade with China, The, 89, 118 Second Opium War, 125, 144–45, 156, 158
Price Current and Commercial Remark, 16 Shangshu (Venerated Documents), 92
‘Prize Essay’, 62–63, 72c, 153 Shao Zhenghu, 22
profit orders, 9, 150–59 Shennong, 30
progress, discourse of. See civilizing Short Treatise on the Being of a God, A, 80
discourse; insular China, discourse of Shun (sage king), 84, 93
Protestant missionaries: ban on, 46, 139; Siku Quanshu (Complete Library of Four
tract distribution, 74, 79, 153; war Branches of Books), 67, 69
argument, 76, 118, 120, 131–32. See also silk trade, 111, 118
knowledge of China; SDUKC silver outflow, 7
Puan Khequa (Pan Youdu), 13 Singapore: expedition troops in, 114, 131,
Purvis, John, 19, 32–33 133; printing in, 33, 71, 74; trade with,
112
Qianlong emperor, 39–40, 42–47, 51–52 Sino-Western relations, 8, 15, 103–4, 121,
Qing: bureaucracy, 15–16, 38, 45, 47, 49, 159
49n63, 51, 60, 91, 119, 139, 141, Slade, John, 76, 91–92
152, 155–59; corruption, 15, 34, 43, Smith, Adam, 13, 15, 23, 27–30
139–40, 152; defeat, 74; factionalism, Smith, John Abel, 120–21, 127
75; inner opium war, 6–8; institutional Smith, Samuel, 147
inertia, 5; maritime defence, 3, 36, 39, social reform movement, 65
47, 41–42, 45, 55, 111, 113–14; policy Society for the Diffusion of Useful
of non-intercourse, 36, 80, 83, 86, Knowledge (SDUK), 64–65
105, 153, 155; state security, 5, 9, 31, Society for the Diffusion of Useful
36–37, 38, 49, 58, 68, 86–87, 101, Knowledge in China (SDUKC), 9, 26,
151–55, 159. See also Canton system; 28–29, 61–78, 72c–73c, 87, 90, 153, 155
EIC soft border, 8–9, 38–60, 61, 82–83, 155
quay incident, 21, 23, 105 Song dynasty, 86, 98
Song Yun, 53, 53n89
Radicals, 7, 121–23 Stanhope, Earl (Philip Henry), 131
realpolitik, 12 Statement of the British Trade, 16
Record of Laws and Systems of the Qing Staunton, Thomas George, 53, 53n89
(Da Qing huidian), 86 Steven, Edwin, 74, 79
Rees, John, 113, 116 Stories of the Three Kingdoms, 142
Reform Act of 1832, 65 Straits Settlements, 62, 71
Republican China, 165 Sturgis, Russel, 78
Ricardian School, 27, 151 Su Shi, 86, 92, 99–100
Ricardo, David, 153 Sunu, 46
Ricci, Matteo, 46 supercargo system, 51. See also EIC; Qing
Rites Controversy, 46 Sutherland, Duchess of (Harriet Sutherland-
Roberts, John William, 109 Leveson-Gower), 144
Robertson, D. B., 143 Sylph, 63
Index 229
Taiping Rebellion, 9, 147 Wakeman, Frederic, 147

Taiwan, 39 Wang Gungwu, 158
Tan Chung, 6 Wang Shengyi, 43
Tartar. See Manchu Wanguo dili quanji (Universal geography),
Taylor, Sidney, 131 75
tea trade, 44, 51, 106, 111, 141 war argument: among Canton merchants,
Temple, Richard, 147 ix, 1–2, 4–5, 8–11, 18, 23–26, 82, 87, 89,
Terranova, Francis, 37 93, 114; in London, 6, 82, 101, 116–22,
The Chinese Commercial Guide, 16 129–31; publication strategy, 70; war
The Opium Question, 120 metaphor, 9, 61–81, 90. See also Jardine
The Rules for Guarding against Foreigners plan; SDUKC; Warlike party; war lobby;
( fangfan waiyi guitiao), 47–48, 96 war plan
The Wealth of Nations, 27, 30 war indemnity, 124
Thirteen Factories: confinement to, 8, 38, war lobby, ix, 3–4, 8–9, 14, 23, 103–4,
48, 55, 59, 83, 93, 109, 119, 139; 111–12, 115, 118–22, 125, 154, 157–59
improvement of, 21–22; population war plan, 115–16, 133, 155
of, 50, 100; trade conducted through, Warlike party, 2–9, 11–37, 38, 56, 58, 60,
15–16, 29; withdrawal of servants from, 62, 66, 76, 78, 81–82, 85, 87, 91, 101–4,
109. See also Canton system; EIC; 110–12, 115–26, 133–34, 136, 139–44,
English Factory 146, 149, 150–54, 159
Thom, Robert, 59, 70, 72c, 76, 78 Warren, Samuel, 120
Thompson, George, 130 Waterloo Dinners, 2, 17
Thoms, Peter Perring, 71, 142–44, 149 Wei Yuan, 29, 74–75
Tories, 7, 122–24, 129, 133, 135–37, 147–50 Wellesley, Richard, 109
trade restrictions: Chinese, 2, 5, 59, 68; Wen (sage king), 84, 93
British, 24. See also under Qing Weng Eang Cheong, 48
traitors (hanjian), 58 Western knowledge: astronomy, 45, 73c;
Treaty of Nanking, 4, 8, 38, 100, 116, 121, 126, belles-lettres, 66, 79; chrestomathy,
151: negotiations, 120–21, 124, 126–29 71, 72c; mathematics, 45; mechanics
Treaty of Tianjin, 82, 144 and mechanical arts, 66, 88; medicine,
treaty ports, 40, 81, 111n37, 143, 148, 150, 66, 73c; natural history, 66; natural
152, 156–57: opened, 126 philosophy, 66, 73c; natural theology,
tributary system, 5, 48–49, 152, 156 66, 79; political economy, 72c;
Turner, Richard, 76, 78, 91 travelogues, 67; world geography, 9,
29, 45, 61, 65, 69, 72c–73c, 88, 155;
Universal Geography, A, 71 world history, 29, 66, 69, 72c–73c.
universal humanitarianism, 133 See also SDUKC
utopian portrayal of the West, 88–89 western ocean system (xiyang), 47, 83,
93–98, 102
Van Dyke, Paul, 50 Wetmore, William, 78
Vernon, Edward, 104 Wheaton, Henry, 75
Victoria I, 17, 128 Whigs, 7, 57, 103, 119–25, 129, 133–37,
Vietnam War, 148 145, 148–50. See also Britain, party
Voltaire, 138 politics of
vote of no confidence, 7, 123, 129. See also Whitehall, 103, 118, 146
Britain, party politics of Williams, Samuel Wells, 141
Voyage Round the World, A, 80, 139 Wood, William Wightman, 26, 26n73
230 Index
Wu Jinsheng, 41, 48 Yinghuan zhilüe (A brief description of the

Wu Qitai, 85–86 ocean circuit), 75
Yongzheng emperor, 46–47, 82, 94, 98–99
Xie Wu (Woo-Yay), 22–23, 105 Yue Fei, 98
Xiong Yuezhi, 75 Yue Zhongqi, 98
Xu Jiyu, 74–75
Zeng Jing, 98
Yang Tingzhang, 41–43, 45 Zhiguo zhi yong dalüe (A sketch on the
Yang Yingju, 40–41, 45 practicalities of policymaking), 28,
Yellow Calendar (huangli or tongshu), 68–69, 28n80
73c Zhongxiang, 22
yi controversy, 9, 47, 82–102, 83n6, 153: first Zhou Renji, 40–41
and second yi, 94–99; term banned, Zhu Guizhen, 1, 22, 105–6
143. See also barbarian eye ( yimu) Zunghar Khanate, 46

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British Knowledge of China in the Making of the Opium War

Song-Chuan Chen (PhD, Cambridge) is an assistant professor

at Nanyang Technological University Singapore. He specializes

British Knowledge of China in the Making

© 2017 Hong Kong University Press

ISBN 978-988-8390-56-4 (Hardback)

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Thus concluded an editorial printed on 1 November 1831 in the English biweekly

The Warlike party’s war

The rise of British private merchants

Canton in the British maritime public sphere

Scottishness.29 Jardine served as patron of the celebration in Canton. During the

The disturbance of 1830 and 1831

The Warlike party’s free trade

A British representative may also be negotiating at Peking, or, at least, may

sometimes, perhaps, on their hopes—we may change the current of national

Teaching the Chinese free trade

The sacred language of Mung-tsze [Mencius], to King Hwuy, will rise up in

We are authorized to announce to Chinese Students generally, that a prize of Fifty

Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China.83 Gützlaff ’s articles emphasized the argu-

Hong, or Security Merchants—It may be supposed, perhaps, from the previous

McCulloch’s opinion of Canton demonstrates that although the British traders of

The Pacific party’s China

of the Napier Affair to forestall the Singapore Chronicle’s possible publication of

Contrary to the Register’s constant depictions of the mandarins in Canton as

they would not recognize an authority possessing no defined political character

the case of Francis Terranova, an American merchant published his account.

The American Government requires of us to submit peaceably to the laws of the

The American’s attitude infuriated Jardine. He expressed his fury in a letter to a

Article V. The Government of China having compelled the British Merchants

The Qing dynasty (1644–1911) was founded by an ethnic minority—the Manchus—

The Canton lobby

a reduction from twenty-seven in 1754 and twenty-six in 1753. He argued that

Canton system and Chinese knowledge of Europeans

A mutual responsibility system

In addition to being aware of the encroachment of Europeans in Asia, Qing officials

Outwitted on the maritime frontier

action of beheading demonstrated hurting oneself in order to manipulate the enemy

Understanding the frontier

Establishment of the society

Planning intellectual artillery

We have enumerated advantages arising out of such knowledge as we may impart

Preparation for writing, translating, and printing

Publications and their impact

I have had opportunity to see the estimation in which the magazine of

Convergence of interests and the war metaphor

The first yi debate

Employing Chinese to fight the yi concept31

Peru was made by Gützlaff to conform to Confucian values as if it were a decent

The second yi debate

More than three ways of naming

the troubled relations between the coastal communities and Europeans—particu-

Naming the uncultured

empty space or replacement of lu and yi actually drew attention to the Manchus’

The right of petition

to relieve the merchants’ distress by quoting nationalistic discourse. On top of British

An island of one’s own

I think it is one of those lamentable occasions in which the English character

Unless through the direct intervention of His Majesty’s Government, in commu-

From information to intelligence

Ma would be proved to be right in his observation of British activities along the

An amply adequate force to compel submission would consist of one line-of-